The Confessions Of A Semi-Reformed Assassin
by EthanTheRenegade
Summary: Game night with the Inquisition leads to some interesting stories from one of the taciturn members. Turns out the quiet ones can have a lot to say when you get them out of their shell… These are stories from the life of Latimer Trevelyan. (Rated 14-A for some language, violence, and minor sexual references)
1. Chapter One: The Game

**A/N: **With writer's block preventing my major projects from gaining speed, I decided to keep from going rusty and vent my Dragon Age: Inquisition kick with a collection of one-shots. This takes place in the same universe as my writing partner, Jamy Catalyst (Project X)'s series "Road To Inquisition".

* * *

**Chapter One: The Game**

* * *

Laughter could be heard echoing down the halls leading to the study. Normally a place for solitary contemplation, the room was anything but quiet as four of the five occupants clinked tankards, their chairs pulled into a circle. In the center, an old Templar's helmet was filled with strips of folded paper, each with a simple prompt.

"Your most memorable hunting trip." The dwarf read aloud, holding the paper with one hand and stroking his chin in thought with the other. "Well, there was the time I hunted wyvern in Chateau Haine."

"That's a load of _Bull's_ shit!" An elf immediately spoke up, nudging the qunari next to her, who couldn't help but laugh at her pun.

"I shit you not, my dear Sera! There I was… waist deep in wyvern shit…"

With his chair turned slightly away from the others, Latimer Trevelyan stared into the fireplace. It was about as lively as the room, with the other occupants varied from listening intently to Cadash's story to try to see how much of it the dwarf was making up. Latimer had been more or less forced to come by his old friend, who must have been tired of excuses:

* * *

_"What about Solas?" He had asked._

_"With Vivienne in the Library. She said no too." The dwarf had been very deadpan and blunt as he walked behind the human, finger on his crossbow's trigger._

_"Cole?" Latimer asked, silently begging that he'd think of a suitable excuse to evade this 'socialization' business._

_"Couldn't find him."_

_"Cullen?"_

_"You can't stand Cullen."_

_"Varric?"_

_"I can't stand Varric! Besides, he's talking to the redhead."_

* * *

And that had dashed Latimer's hope of at least two familiar people being in the group. And while he was resigned to be in the room, he didn't feel the need to contribute much to the conversation.

"Latimer! Your turn."

The dwarf's voice snapped Latimer out of his thoughts. The others, Sera, Iron Bull, and Dorian all stared expectantly at him as the Templar's helm was held out for him.

"I'll pass."

"No, it doesn't work like that kiddo," Cadash said with a grin, "You gotta play at least one round."

Latimer sighed. Elias Cadash had been a 'business partner' and friend for a long time, and he knew when the dwarf was threatening blackmail. That small, sinister smile said it all.

"Quit brooding and join for a few rounds."

With a sigh, Latimer plucked a paper from the helmet.

"Have you ever been in a bar fight?" He read aloud.

* * *

"_Well, this story begins in Kirkwall. While the circumstances of my presence in the city of chains were… less than ideal, I must admit the years I spent there hold some of my better memories. And a few memorable moments took place in a Lowtown tavern known as 'The Hanged Man'. Elias may have mentioned it. Anyway, I hadn't been in Kirkwall for more than a week before I found myself in desperate need of a drink."_

* * *

Stepping into the tavern, Latimer was immediately hit with a sensory assault. The room was loud with conversation, and reeked of alcohol, sweat… and now someone's vacated their stomach in a flowerpot. _Lovely_. Tavern life must be an acquired taste. With a shrug of acceptance, Latimer found himself a place at the bar standing a few feet from a dark-skinned woman and her admirers, both drunk and sober. He seemed to blend in quite nicely, even while dressed in a faithful copy of the armor of the River Dane… a gift from his sister upon his arrival, along with a set of daggers, a hand axe, and a longbow.

* * *

"_Sorry to interrupt, but are you going to get to this bar fight?_"

"_I'm getting there! If you're gonna make me tell a story, at least let me tell it at my own pace._"

* * *

Latimer had just received his fourth tankard when a man who clearly had _way_ too much to drink tripped over nothing, sending a mustached man's drink into a bald man's face. There was a brief moment of calm as the bald man wiped his face, glaring at the mustached man. Suddenly the bar was a flurry of violence, with tankards, chairs, bottles, fists, and feet being thrown around.

Despite not being involved in the slightest, a redheaded man with unkempt sideburns grabbed Latimer by the head and slammed it into the bar counter. Before the assailant could do it again, the rogue elbowed the redhead in the gut and punched him in the teeth. The man stumbled back into the sea of bodies as Latimer shook his hand around to alleviate the pain. Knowing that bringing daggers into this brawl could only make matters worse, the rogue stuck to fists as the melee expanded, dragging him in.

Trying to avoid the clumsy drunken strikes of a bar patron, Latimer lost balance for a moment and bumped into the dark-skinned woman he had noticed on the way in.

"Whoa there, sweet cheeks." Her lilting voice flowing from her lips. "Watch the jewels, as much as I like to flaunt it, I'd rather not show the room what I'm hiding underneath."

"But you'd have one-on-one showings?" Latimer quipped, pressing his back against hers as he watched for stray punches or bottles.

"Oh, only for very special viewers, sweetness." Raising her arms into a familiar stance, she moved her eyes over the crowd, dodging swings as they come and laying out men as they came for her. "Perhaps you could be one of those very special viewers." A sultry laugh followed her offer as she peered over her shoulder at him.

"Provided we can lose the-" Latimer paused mid-sentence to counter a lazily-thrown punch, "lose the competition, I'm sure we'll have a very fun evening ahead of us. Do I get the pleasure of knowing your name?"

"Yes the contenders for this little foray seem to be a bit of an annoyance." The pirate chuckled, "And I guess you can have the pleasure of my name, Isabella." She paused, kicking a twisting drunk man preventing him from barreling into her. "And I suppose I should know yours if you intend to finish what you've started in a more... private setting."

"Latimer. Latimer Trevelyan, if the full title is required." The rogue said before grabbing a thrown bottle from midair to smash across the head of the redheaded man from before.

"Well, Latimer. 'Tis a pleasure." The pirate laughed as she pulled a bottle of some sort of alcohol out of a passing drunks hand and swigged the remainder of the contents before breaking the bottle over the same man's head when he came at her for stealing his prize. "Love me a good bar fight, Latty."

"This is my first one, and may I say that you're a terrific partner to share it with?" Latimer grinned as he peered over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of the pirate.

"Your first time? Well, let's make it extra special, shall we?" She pushed another drunken man away before he could get a good feel in and caught Latimer's eye with a lascivious grin spreading across her lips.

The rogue and the pirate leaned in towards each other, but before contact could be made, the door slammed open as the Kirkwall Guard rushed in to contain the brawl. A red haired guardswoman shouted orders to her fellows as they began to separate the brawlers, arresting the particularly violent and drunk members. When the guardswoman found the darker-skinned pirate, she scoffed:

"I should have known it would be you."

"Well of course it's me, big girl. I'm always at the center of all the fun." The redhead quirked an eyebrow in response:

"I'll bet, pirate."

"Isabella, are you planning on introducing me to your… 'friend', or are we getting right down to 'business'?" Latimer asked, snaking a hand around the pirate's hip.

Leaning her weight against Latimer's side, Isabella answered: "This is Aveline... she tends to have a stick up her ass, but I hear that she's starting to get something else stuck up there as well." The guardswoman's face turned red with embarrassment and then anger:

"Isabella, I should arrest you for this. Starting a bar fight-"

"Actually, didn't start this one. I just enjoyed the aftermath... hoping to continue to enjoy it later, if you know what I mean, big girl." The guardswoman scoffed again adding in the roll of her eyes.

"Well, I guess I shouldn't interfere with your whoring, then. Maker knows I wouldn't succeed in changing your plans for the evening." With that, Aveline turned her attention to helping clean up and clear out the bar.

"She seems a fun sort." Latimer said dryly. "Please tell me you know people who are more exciting."

"Oh Latty, sweetness, I know quite a few people more exciting than big girl." Isabela sent the man a wink as Aveline rolled her eyes from where she stood.

"Ugh, I can't watch this." The guardswoman turned from the two and called out to the other guards in the tavern. "We've got all the perpetrators of the fight, men. Take 'em to the keep." Aveline gave another look to Isabela and Latimer before turning to leave the tavern, her head shaking as she walked.

"...Well, now that the competition is gone, what say we get to know each other a little better?" The rogue's grin returned to his face.

"Hmm, I like how you think."

* * *

"And that may not have been my last bar fight, and not even the most violent, but it was definitely the most memorable." Latimer finished the story, with the other players enraptured by his tale.

"You never _did _tell me where you met that pirate… learn something new everyday." Elias chuckled.

"And how was your night with her?" Iron Bull asked, having paid very close attention to the description of the mayhem.

"You say that like it was the _only _night we shared."

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks to Kalyri for assistance in writing Isabella and Aveline.


	2. Chapter Two: The Nurse Who Loved Me

**A/N:** Yes, every chapter title is/will be a song reference. This is standard procedure. You should look up the title after you're done here, tell me what you find in the review or a PM.

* * *

**Chapter Two: The Nurse Who Loved Me**

* * *

"…And _that's_ how I discovered that you should never, ever, _ever_ under any circumstances lick a lamppost in winter." Cadash warned, much to the humor of the circle of warriors.

"You _seriously_ had to find out the hard way?" Sera asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It was a triple-nug dare! You don't just back out of a triple-nug dare without consequences!"

"Yeah, yeah, we get it Elias… it's a Carta thing. My turn." Latimer said, having grown accustomed to the game after participating in a round himself. He actually found Iron Bull's story of how he cut a man into three pieces with a single swing to be incredibly fascinating.

"I told you, you'd warm up to this." Elias said, passing the helm.

"See, we're not so bad! At least _I'm_ not…" Dorian said, shrugging.

"I'm like an oyster: gotta crack it open to get the pearl. Let's see…" Latimer pulled his next piece of paper, "How did you meet your first love?"

A chorus of 'oohs' rose into the air.

"I can't pick a new one?" Latimer asked sheepishly.

"Well… have you ever licked a lamppost in winter?" Dorian asked, holding a ball of frost in his hand.

Latimer sighed. "I feel like I'm gonna regret this."

* * *

_"Well, I'll try to skip as much backstory as possible here… but the basic, need-to-know, bread-and-butter is: my family wanted me in the Chantry, I didn't want to be there, so not long after my sixteenth birthday, I hopped on a ship to Ferelden. I got off in Amaranthine, and I managed to convince these traders to take me to Denerim. On the way we were talking, and they told me that I should go to Lothering or Redcliffe if I wanted a fresh start without the choking city life of Denerim."_

_"Let me guess… Didn't quite work out?"_

_"I was attacked by bandits as I passed through the Brecilian Forest and left to die."_

* * *

Latimer felt… strange. As if he was underwater, but not quite drowning. Sound was muffled, he was sore, and breathing was difficult. Then one by one, memories started to come back. A path, bandits, no way out, knives and clubs, then blackness. Latimer broke from his near-unconscious state with a gasp for air.

"Atisha, calm… calm down, you're alright" A soothing voice accompanied by a pair of hands on his chest and shoulder that helped guide him back to the ground. Latimer's vision was blurry, but he could barely make out the face of the woman who spoke.

"What…? Who?" Latimer's words were a little slurred and raspy as he squirmed on the ground, trying to get up.

"No, don't get up, please lie down." The woman spoke again, moving right back to his side; "I'll have some salve for you in a minute, but I just need to finish the stew first, okay?"

"…Okay?" Latimer repeated, still dazed and confused.

"Ma serannas! Just… stay put."

Latimer tried to relax as he lay on the ground. This was really strange. It was obvious that the bandits had attacked him, but what had happened after? Did someone stop the bandits? Was he just found afterwards on death's door? And who found him? And what were some of those weird words she was saying? Not really willing to risk injuring himself, he resigned himself to his spot on the ground. Around him he could hear the sounds of the forest, and the quiet singing of the woman as she stirred the aforementioned stew… or at least Latimer assumed that was what she was doing.

"Okay, this _might_ sting a little, but I promise it'll help. Really." The woman returned, kneeling down to Latimer's level with a clay bowl in hand.

Now that his vision had cleared up, Latimer could get a better look at the woman. She looked to about his age, maybe a year older. Her dark hair had braids and beads hanging around messily, but there was a strange method to the madness. One of the braids was tucked behind the woman's ear… and Latimer slowly realized it looked a bit different. She was an elf. And when he considered the tattoos on her face and the weird language, he realized she must be Dalish. A Dalish elf saved him? Latimer's thoughts were broken when the salve instigated burning pain on his chest.

"Atisha, atisha! Calm down!" The elf ordered, attempting to stop him from thrashing around. "I told you it would hurt, but it'll be worse if I don't put this on your wounds!"

Latimer stared blankly at the woman and tried to relax. There was a moment of silent understanding as the two stared at each other.

"You're going to be alright. Just trust me, okay?" She said again, massaging his shoulder. Latimer managed a nod, and the elf returned to work.

"Your injuries were severe… aside from the cuts and bruising, you may have a broken leg. I'll have to take you to my clan. I'm just a hunter, not a healer. I sent my hunting partner back to tell the Keeper and get some help to bring you over. Keeper Vathornhel is not particularly cruel to shemlen-I, I mean _humans_. But Fiora, his First… she'd have to convince him to let you stay and recover, rather than drop you off at some shem-_human_ village in the dark of night or something like that."

As the elf rambled, Latimer tried to keep still. The pain was anywhere from 'mildly uncomfortable' to 'being lit on fire', and it was difficult to not thrash around. Although the salve did slowly numb the areas it touched, the agony was more than Latimer had ever experienced before.

"Thank you." Latimer's voice was raspy and barely above a whisper.

"I mean, it wasn't _my_ fault the humans walked right into a spider's-what?" The elf was stopped mid-rant.

"You saved me. Thank you."

"Well… you're welcome." The elf was quite flustered and turned a shade of red. "It was the right thing to do, didn't matter if you were human, or elven, or a dwarf, though I've never seen a dwarf…"

"I'm thirsty." Latimer rasped out again.

"Oh! Right, of course… Ir abelas." The elf rushed away and returned quickly with a deerskin canteen. Carefully, she helped lift Latimer's head and poured some water into his mouth.

"Thank you."

"Would you like some stew as well? Rabbit stew?" The elf asked.

"Yes please." Latimer replied hoarsely, and once again she was gone and back, replacing the canteen with a clay bowl and wooden spoon.

"And to think… Norilla thought I was crazy to bring all this to the campsite… 'We're only staying for a week, we're not feeding an entire hunting party'!" The elf scoffed as she fed Latimer a spoonful of stew, "Excuse me if I'd like a little more variety than just-"

"What's your name?"

"Me? Oh, well I guess no one else is around to ask… Mirwen. I'm sorry, I didn't ask your name, that was a rude of me…" Mirwen grew flustered again, gesturing subtly with the spoon.

"Latimer."

"Well. It's a pleasure to meet you, Latimer. I haven't met many humans… at least ones who didn't want to kill me, or run away screaming like I was a giant spider or something." Mirwen resumed feeding Latimer when some sounds were heard in the distance.

"Mirwen, the clan has allowed us to bring him to the Keeper. Vathornhel will-" Another elf walked into view, pausing when she saw the sight of her clan sister spoon-feeding a human. "…Lethallan, please tell me you haven't adopted this shem as a pet or something? Can he not feed himself?"

"Norilla, he can barely move, and his arms may be broken." Mirwen sighed.

"And I'm sure you just took his tunic off to apply the salve?" Norilla raised an eyebrow. Latimer noticed just how red Mirwen turned at this statement.

"Wha-what did Keeper Vathornhel say?" Mirwen changed the subject.

"He said that he'd handle the shem after he had a look at him. Probably an interrogation too, knowing the Keeper. They're sending a few warriors to help move him and keep us safe while we make the trip." Norilla said after a particularly loud sigh.

* * *

_"Well, the whole 'walking me through a forest on a wooden board' thing is boring so I'll skip that-are you paying attention?"_

_"Trev, having the undivided attention of three out of four listeners is not a bad ratio. I just needed to get the ideas for new traps on paper before I forgot."_

_"Cadash, if you want me to play the game, you can at least listen when it's my turn."_

_"Ooooohhh…"_

_"Just keep on with it…"_

* * *

Latimer was moved into a caravan-tent-type thing that Mirwen had called an Aravel as two elves looked him over. One was an older man, his bald head heavily tattooed more than any other Dalish in the camp. The other was a young woman, much older than Mirwen, but not much older than thirty years. She was lightly tattooed, and had a single braid tucked behind her ear.

"So. You were attacked on the road by bandits, and you remember nothing until my hunters discovered you?" The older man asked.

"Yes, sir." Latimer responded.

"Who are you, and where are you from?"

"Latimer Trevelyan. I lived in Ostwick, in the Free Marches, until I left to find my own path."

"Keeper Vathornhel, he doesn't look like he'd mean us any harm. He's a little young for that. And Ostwick is across the sea in the Free Marches." The woman said, turning to the older elf.

"The shemlen always bring trouble when they come, Fiora. This boy will be no exception." Vathornhel replied looking back to Latimer.

"What do you do then? Leave him to die?" Fiora asked. "Mirwen has already grown attached to him and has offered to care for him if he needs to recover."

The older elf growled quietly in annoyance and stood up to pace.

"Not all humans are the same, Vathornhel. Maybe this one would be a benefit to us? At least let him recover here." Fiora gently took her elder's arm. Vathornhel have a heavy sigh.

"Very well, emm'asha. You have convinced me." Vathornhel said, sitting down beside Latimer. "We will do what we can with our magic, but it is apparent you will need time to recuperate. You may stay among our clan as you do, but you must pull as much weight as possible, and you will leave us as soon as you are healthy enough. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir."

* * *

_"So I ended up staying with them for… three months, I think it was. Turns out I had a dislocated shoulder, bruised ribs, and a broken leg. I won't bore you with details. But the need-to-know is that my presence was barely tolerated by most of the clan, especially Vathornhel. Even so, Mirwen and I were very close, and no, we didn't get… physical. Vathornhel would've had me quartered if we were. But Mirwen and Norilla taught me how to use a bow, and Fiora taught me some of the Dalish history. But no matter how close I was with some of the clan, Vathornhel was always quick to remind me that as soon as I was healthy, I'd be cast out. Eventually, that day came."_

* * *

Latimer was as downcast as the cloudy weather as he packed his bags. Three months had gone by so quickly. And while he was glad to finally be fully healed, he was going to miss Mirwen dearly. Exiting the makeshift tent he stayed in for the duration of his recovery, Latimer was greeted by Mirwen and Fiora.

"I'm sorry that I couldn't convince the Keeper to let you stay longer." Fiora said with a sad smile. "But I wish you safe travels."

Mirwen looked on the edge of tears and rushed forward to wrap Latimer in a tight hug that pushed the air out of his lungs.

"I'm going to miss you." She whispered as she unconsciously crushed his ribs.

"Da'len, you're going to injure him." Fiora said gently.

"…So I should squeeze tighter? Maybe he'll be able to stay longer if-"

"I know this may be hard, but you have to let go."

A few tears falling from her eyes, Mirwen let Latimer go, finally allowing him to breath again.

"I'm going to miss you… both of you, but especially you, Mirwen. No offence." Latimer said, hugging them both at the same time.

"None taken." Fiora commented in an almost singsong tone.

Latimer gave a resigned sigh and let them both go. Grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder, the three prepared to walk to the edge of camp when the rising sounds of commotion spread through the camp. The three rushed to the source, finding a group of five well-armed humans staring down Vathornhel and a group of six hunters.

"Begone from this place shemlen. If you leave now, you may escape with your lives." The elder threatened, planting his staff firmly in front of him.

"Not until you return what's been taken!" A snooty voice, likely a noble countered the Keeper's.

"You have been warned once. That is more generous than many of the people would offer." Vathornhel growled. "Leave now."

"Or what? If we fall, my father will hunt you down like the vermin you are!" The noble sneered.

"That is a risk we are willing to take to maintain the safety of the clan. Your threats have left us no choice!" Vathornhel raised his staff.

"Enough!" Latimer shouted, throwing himself between the groups. A silence settled over the camp. "Is diplomacy a lost concept on you people?"

"And who do you think you are?" The noble huffed indignantly. "Well, boy, convince these knife-ears to give me my servant back and I'll leave."

"There are two sides to a coin, and it's the same with stories." Latimer responded. "Whoever this… man is talking about, please step forward and tell me how you came to this camp."

A long pause began before a young male elf stepped out from the crowd. Latimer recognized him, a newcomer that had only been present for a week at most.

"What's your name?" Latimer asked.

"Uhhh… Piran, sir. Please don't send me back." The elf was visibly terrified and looked as if he was about to soil himself.

"Now, what did you think happened to your servant?" Latimer asked the noble.

"These… woodland vermin seduced him with their fairy tales and promises of vengeance on their masters, and he must have left to find them! You must have some idea of how it is, servants getting ideas about rising above their position?" The noble drawled. Latimer had to keep calm as he turned to Piran.

"Why did you leave?"

"Why _didn't_ I leave? They were always shouting at me, and threatening me, and beating me… I dropped a plate and they whipped me for it!"

"That was my great-grandmother's finery!" The noble interrupted.

"Oh gods… I just remembered stories about the Dalish and I just wanted to be free from that house! Please don't send me back!" Piran openly wept at Latimer's feet.

"Is he not replaceable? Surely you can find someone else to do his job." Latimer asked the noble.

"That's not the point! The point is that I can't just _let_ him get away!" He huffed and puffed out his chest.

"Then may I suggest an offering? Perhaps if the Dalish would grant you some goods to sell or trade as a payment, you would let Piran leave your service? You could use the gold to hire a new servant, or keep the goods as trophies. Is that agreeable?" Latimer asked, looking back and forth between the leaders of the small armies.

"I will only agree to those terms if the shemlen agrees to leave this clan alone after the exchange is made." Vathornhel said, adopting a slightly less aggressive stance.

"I suppose that is agreeable… he was rather worthless anyway." The noble sighed.

"Very well. Have some spare crafts brought to the shemlen, but do not lower your bows until they leave."

Latimer sighed in relief as the orders were carried out. After the human noble and his entourage left with their spoils, Latimer addressed the keeper again.

"Keeper Vathornhel… I would like to stay longer with the clan. I believe that… today's incident proves my usefulness, and I can help with the hunting and-" Latimer was stopped when Vathornhel raised his hand.

"Latimer, I suppose I must thank you for defending the clan. Provided you remain helpful, you may stay. However, I have one favor to ask of you." Vathornhel sighed.

"Yes, Keeper?" Latimer asked, almost dreading what would come next.

"Word has reached me that the Sabrae clan has also taken in a human. I ask that you spend a few months among them to learn of our culture and history. Their keeper, Marethari, will be much more… accommodating to your needs than I can be." The elder elf spoke with a slight difficulty. It must have been difficult to admit.

"Is your clan planning to move?" Latimer asked.

"Yes, we are moving north. Mirwen will undoubtedly keep you informed of our whereabouts. You may leave for the Sabrae camp in one month's time. That will give us time to make the arrangements."

* * *

"And while the adventures with the Sabrae clan are for another piece of paper, that was how I met Mirwen, and convinced the clan to let me stay with her… except for those months I wasn't there, but they don't count." Latimer capped off another story.

"That's adorable." Sera said, somewhere between sarcasm and sincerity.

"This... Mirwen is not among us now. What became of her?" Iron Bull asked, leaning forward.

"...That question that will only be answered tonight if the helmet decrees." Latimer shrugged, passing the helm to Dorian. Latimer was a little quieter as the Tevinter mage began a story of the time a spell of his went wrong with 'hilarious results'.


	3. Chapter Three: The Mob Rules

**A/N: **Special thanks to the infamous Jessica-X for this chapter's prompt. This one is unfortunately going to be shorter than the last two. I will make up for said shortness in future chapters.

* * *

**Chapter Three: The Mob Rules**

* * *

"…She didn't take my rejection well, and spent at least a third of her family's fortune on assassins! I mean, I had _told_ her I was already married!" Elias laughed.

"I feel so bad for whoever had to marry _you_." Sera shuddered.

"He's married to himself. _Literally_. Ring and everything." Latimer said dryly.

"Hey, I'm dedicated to what I do!" Elias frowned, puffing his chest out a little. "I don't have time for little womb nuggets running around, wrecking my inventions and getting in my potions! I'd rather be married to my work."

"Words of wisdom from Elias Cadash, everybody…" Latimer deadpanned as he plucked a paper from the helm.

"What's the worst battlefield injury you've seen?"

* * *

_"Well aside from the Breach incident, which doesn't really count… I can't really think of the worst battlefield injury I've seen. I saw glimpses of the Mage-Templar War while fleeing Kirkwall, but I wasn't an active participant. I was somewhat involved with the Qunari incident, but that was more self-defense, and I would've abandoned Kirkwall if it had fallen."_

_"It doesn't have to be a really big battle, Trev. Remember that time off the Wounded Coast…?"_

_"Right! Oh, this is a doozy…"_

* * *

Latimer scanned the nearby campsite through a spyglass from his place on the cliffs. One Sebastian Vael had placed an open bounty on all members of the Flint Company mercenary group, and being in the good graces of a prince, even a disgraced one, would be an asset.

"What'd ya see, Trev?" Elias asked, the dwarf camouflaged by the tall grass.

"There are about… six to eight of them. Maybe ten, if any are in their tents. Most of 'em favor either the bow, or two-handers. One guy with daggers." Latimer drummed off the numbers, not taking his eyes off their quarry.

"How do we want to handle this?" Elias asked, "There's too many for the two of us to just rush them, and we don't want to wait too long. Hawke was seen looking at the Chanter's Board. Last thing we need is _interference_."

Latimer dropped from his perch and crouched low as he weighed his options. Too complex a plan, and it may be too little, too late. Acting on impulse would end badly. There had to be a solution. As the dwarf and human pondered, a lone wagon rolled up to the camp.

"Wait, what? What are they _doing_?" Elias whispered harshly as the mercenaries approached the cart with weapons drawn.

The pair watched as an inaudible argument took place between the clearly lost trader and the mercenaries. After another minute or so, the merchant was chased out, forced to leave his wares behind.

"What'd ya think the poor sod was carrying?" Elias asked as Latimer brought his spyglass back up.

"Hmm… they're cracking the crates open now. Looks like… wow, they hit a jackpot."

"What is it?"

"Alcohol, by the jubilation."

"Aye… I remember now. The Carta mentioned something about trying to get their hands on a smuggler's wagon of some specially brewed swill from Orlais or something like that. Aquae Lucidius, I think. Apparently it's pretty potent, like hallucinations and shit. I mean, dwarves put dirt in their booze, but wyvern venom? That's _asking_ for trouble." Elias said, scratching at the bald space between his sideburns and his almost tribal haircut.

"Well it looks like they're digging into it pretty hard." Latimer deadpanned as he watched the mercenaries carry crates filled with bottles into their camp. A few of them had already begun drinking.

"No! Not right from the bottle!" Elias gasped, grabbing the spyglass from Latimer's hands. "They'll be seeing pink griffins for _days_ if they keep this up!"

Latimer's eyes slowly widened as an idea struck him.

"Let them."

"_Are you crazy_?" Elias could barely refrain from shouting, "You realize how _much_ that stuff's worth on the black market? _Forty sovereigns a bottle_! We need to get it back, _and_ kill them!"

"Trust me Elias. If these guys will be as inebriated as you say, killing them will take no effort."

The dwarf huffed and grumbled.

"So what's your plan?"

"I'm thinking… we wait until nightfall. They should be good and drunk and out of their minds. Then we just find one little thing to push them against each other. Like for instance… shooting a flaming arrow into a tent and screaming 'charge' at the top of our lungs." Latimer laid out strategy as Elias grew a grin on his face.

"I like the way you think Latimer. This is why we get along."

* * *

_"And let me tell you, there is nothing worse than sitting around staring at the people you're supposed to kill watching them get drunk for four hours."_

_"I understand your pain."_

_"Of course you do, Iron Bull."_

_"Hey, keep the side-conversations down, it's not your turn for story time."_

_"Can I just get back to it? Please? Thank you."_

* * *

"Are you ready?" Latimer asked, holding the flint at the ready. A few of Latimer's arrows had the tips dipped in pitch. A small fire pit was ready to be lit. Once it was, there was no turning back.

"What about the booze? Once the fire starts, that horse is gonna be gone, and the booze with it." Elias grumbled.

"You dwarves and your drinks… Fine. You have one minute, then the arrows fly." Latimer groaned.

"Hey! Forty sovereigns a bottle!" Elias hissed before taking off into the night.

Latimer sat around with his spyglass, counting the minute under his breath. As he stared down into the camp, he saw that most of the mercenaries have collapsed into a stupor, but the larger ones were still flopping about. To the dwarf's credit, he managed to reach the reigns within the minute. Latimer put away his spyglass and clashed the pieces of flint over the fire pit. Within seconds he had a small fire, just enough to set his arrows ablaze. Not giving any more time, he turned and fired the first arrow.

The arrow lit the furthest tent on fire, and as Elias had predicted, the ensuing blaze and shouting prompted the horse to flee, taking the dwarf and remaining cargo with it. When the second arrow hit another tent, the majority of the mercenaries in the camp were active. Weapons drawn, each was convinced the other was an enemy and acted accordingly. While there was little need, Latimer fired one final arrow, which missed its intended target, but ignited an explosive trap that had not been fully set up before the alcohol was intercepted.

Between the fire, explosion, and hallucinatory blood rage, the mercenaries were all dead within five minutes.

"…We waited six hours for this? The money better be worth it." Latimer grumbled to himself as he doused the fire.

* * *

"Yeah, it wasn't technically an 'accident', but I'm pretty sure they didn't _intend_ to carve each other like a Feast Day roast." Latimer deadpanned.

"And the Aquae Lucidius brought in some serious coin, let me tell you. Could you imagine what would've happened if we just _left _it lying there to get burned away or smashed or… I can't bear to think of this anymore." Elias rambled.

"Honestly though, I hope the next paper I get is better suited for me. Iron Bull should've got this one." Latimer shrugged.

"Who do you think wrote it?" Iron Bull asked, grinning horn to horn.

"…Of course." Latimer rolled his eyes.


	4. Chapter Four: The Ballroom Blitz

**A/N: **There are a lot of shout-outs in this chapter. Can you spot them all? Dragon Age Inquisition #help me make it to release writing prompt: Orlesian Ball Shenanigans.

* * *

**Chapter Four: The Ballroom Blitz**

* * *

"And while the experiment was shut down for 'budget reasons' and a 'rising body count', I'm absolutely _certain_ I could've made dragons and wyverns just as loyal, intelligent, and dependable as the mabari hound!" Cadash ranted.

"Okay, let's make a pact. That dwarf stays away from children and animals." Sera glanced between the mage and qunari.

"But… think of the _mayhem_!" Iron Bull protested.

"No!"

"_Mayhem_!"

"Well, unfortunately you're not in charge." Latimer shrugged, "I mean, not that there aren't _benefits _to a dragon mount…" Latimer absentmindedly played with the three braids of his beard.

"At least give us a chance to vote _against _this madness!" Sera threw her hands up in the air.

"There'll be a vote… don't worry." Latimer said, mostly inattentive to the elf's protests as he took another paper from the helm.

"Have you ever attended an Orlesian Ball?" Latimer read aloud.

"Oh _Maker_!" Dorian groaned, "Orlesian Balls are the _worst_!"

"Well… there was one time that was somewhat interesting…"

* * *

_"This is a recent event. Not too long before The Breach, actually. I… don't really want to get into what happened between The Breach and the destruction of Kirkwall's Chantry. But I can say that the more… fanatical members of my family thought I would fall to the influences of heretics if I stayed outside Chantry influence for too long. After a month-long manhunt, they finally… I had to go back, or else… well, I don't want to talk about that. But being brought back to Ostwick was an unpleasant thing. Thankfully, my sister was the sole sane member of the family and convinced my parents that I needed to spend time alone in the mansion meditating and coming to terms with the horrors I've faced rather than being put right back into Templar training. But that could only last for so long, and even so, I was still paraded out in social events. Like when Duke Lucien Gaston of Orlais decided to hold a ball to find suitors for all of his children."_

_"Is that…?"_

_"No, I meant what I said: literally all of his children. Three sons and seven daughters were of age, with many younger ones ready to be pre-arranged."_

_"That's a lot of kids."_

_"No one got around like Gaston. I suppose it didn't help that he had a number of mistresses along with his wife… like the wife's sister, the ex-wife, a maid or two, another ex-wife, the second ex-wife's cousin…"_

_"Alright, Gaston was a sex addict, we get it. Move on now."_

* * *

"Latimer, dear, do try to smile."

"Yes, mother." Latimer responded in the monotone voice that he rarely broke since returning to Ostwick.

"Listen son, I know you're taking the… Kirkwall incident hard, but you need to put on a face and bury that garbage." Latimer's father, Augustus spoke firmly.

"Why bother?" Latimer asked, still not showing emotion as he stared out the carriage window.

"It's been made very clear that the Duke is looking for suitors for his daughters, and with your brother fighting to restore order to those… _rebellious _mages, you must impress enough to win their favor." Augustus sneered at the mention of the mages. While his wife, Arianne, was supportive of mages loyal to Andraste and the Circle, Augustus vilified magic and all those who wielded it.

"And I suppose I have no say in the matter?"

"Let me be clear, Latimer." Augustus pulled his son away from the window, forcing their eyes to meet. "Your days of running around, frolicking with knife-ears are over. You're nobility. You have duties, responsibilities. I've let you mope around the estate for three months. If you do not make an honest effort to woo one of the Duke's daughters, I'm sending you straight to the Templars, and I'll make damn sure your brother whips you into shape! Do you understand?"

"Yes, father." Latimer said through gritted teeth.

"Good. Then we have an accord. Just in time, too. We've arrived."

Chateau Avarita was allegedly once the home of a Tevinter Magister that was converted following his death. Such rumors were never truly confirmed. However, the estate was lavish, nearly every bit the castle of fairy tales. While a few individuals seemed to be mingling outside, it was clear that the majority of the party would take place in the ballroom or on the grand balcony. Though why there would ever be a balcony hanging over an enormous cliff, was a question on the Trevelyan family's mind.

As his father expected, Latimer forced his outward demeanor to change the minute he left the carriage. While still reserved, Latimer did not look a broken man at the moment. As the family was led into the ballroom, Augustus listed off the daughters around Latimer's age.

"It's likely that the family will be together at the grand table prior to the official dances. Belladonna Gaston spends all her time in the library, lost in books. Carmella Gaston is more… aggressive. They say she captains the castle guard. You may like Elswyth Gaston… they say she's half elf."

"Introducing the Trevelyan family of Ostwick, Augustus, his wife Arianne, and their youngest son Latimer!"

A number of heads turned as the trio entered the ballroom. The ballroom was designed specifically for dramatic entrances, with a short but elegant staircase leading down and into the room. While his parents had the 'noble entrance' thing nailed down, Latimer felt incredibly awkward and uncomfortable as he descended the stairs.

"Dear, we should leave Latimer to his devices. If you want him to find someone, it will not help if his parents are hovering over his shoulder." Arianna whispered to her husband.

"A valid point. Go off and mingle, but remember what I said." Augustus said, as he and his wife ventured off.

With that, Latimer was left alone in a crowd of stuffy nobles that he didn't know and would take offense at anything and everything. It reminded him in a way of the first time he stepped foot in the Hanged Man, only cleaner in appearance. Trying to keep away from crowds, Latimer moved directly for the buffet, hoping to get some drink in him before trying to woo one of the Duke's daughters.

Before even reaching the table, he was confronted by a nobleman.

"How _dare _you show your face here?" He snarled in his outrageous accent.

"…I'm sorry?" Latimer asked dryly.

"After what you did… _defiling _my daughter! I should have had you hanged! Burned at the stake! Beheaded!"

Latimer took a closer look at the man. Overweight, greying and balding, ridiculous mustache… he had no clue who this was.

"My lord, I must admit I have no sodding idea who you are, and I assure you that I have never met your daughter, let alone 'defiled' her. Please leave me alone, or I will have to use force."

"You dare speak that way to-"

"Milord!" A young man coughed into his hand, "This is Latimer Trevelyan. _Latimer_, not _Osborn_."

"What? …Oh." The noble's eyes widened. "My apologies young man… I… my vision has been failing me… I apologize."

"It appears my brother is not the paragon of virtue he claims to be." Latimer grumbled.

"Yes. Well… I should go." The noble said before rushing off.

Latimer rubbed his eyes once again. If incidents like this were what the night had in store, he'd have to drink all the wine in the cellar. As he resumed his march to the buffet, Latimer looked around the room for any signs of the Duke's daughters. His father did not describe them efficiently enough, and he decided he'd have to find them on his own. Reaching the table, Latimer poured himself a glass of wine and downed it before he could bother to think twice.

"Pour one for me?" Latimer turned to see a young woman in an elegant and slim black dress.

"You need one as badly as I do?" Latimer asked, pouring out a glass for each of them.

"Maker, yes." She sighed as Latimer passed over her drink.

"To surviving stuffy nobles and politics?" Latimer asked, raising his glass with a grin.

"Don't forget impossibly tight corsets." She smiled back clinking their glasses together.

"So what drags you to this ball?" Latimer asked, taking a sip of wine.

"My father's putting it on." The woman shrugged and rolled her eyes. "He thinks he can-"

Latimer immediately spat out his drink, accidentally coating a nearby noblewoman in wine.

"I'm sorry?" Latimer asked, ignoring the shrieking noble behind them.

"My father, Duke Gaston, arranged this ball so he could find me a husband… as if I couldn't pick my own spouse." The woman scoffed at her situation.

"…That's interesting. My father ordered me to woo one of the Duke's daughters, or else he'd send me to my brother with the Templars. I apologize, I haven't introduced myself. Latimer Trevelyan." Latimer bowed his head slightly.

"Breña Gaston." She replied, giving an equally lazy curtsy. "Is being sent to the Templars such a horrible fate?"

"Yes, my lady. Especially considering my _brother_ would be in command." Latimer shuddered slightly. "I take more offence that I am given no _choice_. Am I not fit to live my own life? Why must I live a life chosen for me?"

"I know what you mean…" Breña sighed. "Father expects me to meet some rich nobleman and push out some kids for him… ugh."

"That does seem unpleasant." Latimer mused, "But I'm sure that we can satisfy our parent's demands by _appearing_ interested in each other."

"Well, you do seem less boring than the _other _nobles here. Very well, you have permission to accompany me this evening." Breña said with a somewhat sultry grin.

"I do strive to be interesting." Latimer said offering his arm. "I suppose we should make something of a show of this to our respective overlords before we dance."

Arm in arm, the 'couple' strode across the ballroom. They only really needed to see the Duke. Latimer knew that his father was carefully and constantly watching him, whereas the Duke had to keep tabs on a large number of children spread all over the ballroom. There was no way he'd notice unless they were direct. And Latimer was not intimidated in the slightest by the burly man with the ponytail and jaw that could likely crack stone.

"Father, may I introduce Latimer Trevelyan of Ostwick?" Breña announced her companion.

"Ah, well met. I had an enlightening conversation with your father earlier." Duke Gaston said, shaking Latimer's hand. "He said you were quite the hero, and absolutely vital when repelling the ox-men from Kirkwall."

"The Champion may have defeated their Arishok, but I played my part, as many others did on that day." Latimer said with a respectful nod.

"If I may interrupt, father, I would like to have a dance with a _hero_." Breña said, giving Latimer a dreamy look.

"By all means, my dear. Have fun." The Duke waved them off.

"You _do _know how to dance, right?" Breña whispered once her father was out of earshot.

"It's one of the many skills I learned never knowing how useful it'd be in the future." Latimer said dryly as they drew closer to the dance floor.

"Oh thank the Maker. You wouldn't believe how many partners I've had step on my toes. You think they'd learn to dance, considering they're trying so hard to impress me." Breña scoffed as they seamlessly merged with the other dancers, engaging in a waltz.

"So what's the game?" Latimer asked. "We play the star-crossed lovers for an evening and then what?"

"I already have eyes for someone else, so don't get any ideas there. This arrangement we have is for our mutual benefit. Not that you're aren't cute… I'm sure you could find someone quite easily." Breña replied.

"Well, for your part, you're quite lovely, but… I had someone. We were separated after Kirkwall… my parents did not approve of the relationship, and won't let me search for her." Latimer sighed.

"Oh… I'm sorry."

"I'm hoping that I can escape my leash long enough to find her, but that seems unlikely." Latimer sighed, their conversation not once interrupting their dance.

"Was she a commoner?" Breña asked.

"She was an elf, one of the Dalish, actually. She saved my life." Latimer replied.

"There's a merchant who visits here. Father would have no issue with me marrying her, were she rich and a _man_." Breña scoffed.

"Speaking of our oppressive parents, they're watching us." Latimer spoke under his breath. True enough both the Duke and the Trevelyan patriarch were conversing, looking in their direction.

"Then we give them a show." Breña whispered back, grabbing Latimer by the collar and pulling him into a kiss. After a moment, they broke away. "Sorry."

"You could've warned me!" Latimer hissed quietly.

"Well, I could've. This was more fun." Breña giggled.

"Well, it's certainly giving them something to talk about." Latimer subtly motioning in the direction of the Duke and his father, toasting to something that likely involved them.

"Well, Latimer, you've proven to be an efficient dance partner… and hopefully a good friend." Breña curtsied following the conclusion of the dance.

"Likewise. Now, we should check on our oppressors. See what they have to-"

While attempting to leave, something ran out underneath Latimer's feet, causing him to stumble into a nearby noble. Looking around, Latimer could've sworn he had seen the tail of a fox disappear into the crowd, but all other thoughts vanished when he saw whom he had knocked into.

"Latimer Trevelyan."

"Sebastian Vael."

Latimer had never got along very well with Sebastian. The two fought and argued more with each other than alongside each other during the years in Kirkwall. While Latimer couldn't understand why Sebastian stayed in the Chantry as opposed to retaking Starkhaven, while Sebastian couldn't grasp why Latimer was so opposed to the Chantry and Templars. The breaking point between them came when the Chantry was destroyed. Latimer had applauded Anders for his defiance, and advocated for mercy on the mage's behalf.

"Funny seeing you here. I imagined you'd be busy raising your hunting party." Latimer bore a smug grin, knowing somewhere inside that Anders was likely still alive somewhere.

"That's exactly what I'm doing." Sebastian said, exuding hostility. "It's part of the politics."

"Funny what it takes to make us realize what we're born to do. It's a shame it took what it did to put you back on the throne of Starkhaven." Latimer enjoyed pressing Sebastian's buttons. "You really should have heeded my advice."

"Latimer, you'll find that provoking a prince has consequences." Sebastian looked to be on the edge of exploding, barely holding a calm façade together.

"I wonder what the Grand Cleric would have thought of your quest for vengeance? I believe she referred to the first one as 'madness'?" Latimer felt truly superior as he picked away at his rival. "You won't find him, you know. You'd best let it go and focus on playing prince."

"You wouldn't know much about finding people. Look how the search for your elf turned out." Sebastian finally managed to turn the tables on Latimer. Instantly, their demeanors were exchanged.

"I challenge you to a duel!" Latimer shouted, bringing the entire party to a halt.

"I accept." Sebastian growled, and the two men stalked out to the grand balcony, with an attentive audience following behind. With the crowd blocking the exit, and the balcony hanging over a massive cliff, there would be no escape for either duelist.

"Your weapons." A butler arrived with dueling swords for each of them.

"I've been waiting for this since Kirkwall." Latimer growled.

"It has been a long time coming, hasn't it?" Sebastian replied in turn.

"These are the dueling rules of House Gaston: combatants face off with the provided weapons only. Stand back to back, ten paces, turn, and begin. The duel ends in death, surrender, or irrecoverable disarm. Onlookers may place bets at their discretion." The butler announced before stepping back to the side.

As instructed, Latimer and Sebastian stood back to back, took ten paces, and turned. Latimer immediately rushed toward Sebastian, and slid underneath his first strike. His attempt to stab the prince in the back failed when the royal turned to parry the blow.

"Kick his ass, Trevelyan!"

A voice familiar to both men rang out, but neither could identify its source. Refocusing their attention on each other, they struck fast and hard at each other. Latimer was at a distinct advantage, having trained himself in both archery and melee combat, where Sebastian was almost exclusively and archer. But the prince was no pushover, and was very familiar with Latimer's style. A break in the action allowed the men to circle each other.

"You don't learn how to fight, how to rule cowering in the Chantry." Latimer taunted, "And all you see is Anders, Anders, Anders. Starkhaven will crumble with you at its helm."

"Then be surprised at how I'm keeping pace with you, coward. You've run from your heritage and responsibilities to live in the dirt. You ran from the duty bestowed upon you. You ran from her." To his credit, Sebastian knew the one nerve that hurt Latimer the most, and continued to press it.

In his rage, Latimer rushed back in, desperately wishing that he had his axes as opposed to the thin dueling sword he was using. While Latimer was using emotion and aggression, Sebastian looked somewhat calm and collected, at least in comparison.

A parry saw Latimer disarmed, and his sword sent to the edge of the balcony. He dove over, but Sebastian moved slightly faster and blocked his path. Not giving a moment, Latimer grabbed the prince's sword arm, twisted it, and pulled him over his shoulder, disarming the noble and slamming him onto the hard floor.

While both men were disarmed, neither saw it as an excuse to end the duel, now fighting with fists. Latimer shined once again, having been in enough bareknuckle brawls that he could truly let his aggression flow through him like a dwarven berserker. Sebastian was distinctly not as experienced in hand-to-hand combat, and suffered a great number of strikes.

"Now!"

Suddenly a small explosion rocked the estate. Both men stopped their duel as the horrified crowd watched cracks form at the midway point of the balcony, creeping from the outer edges toward the middle. Realizing what was to come, Latimer and Sebastian decided to forgo their feud in favor of not falling to their deaths. Both men broke into a sprint, diving to barely make it onto the stable remnant of the once grand balcony.

The scene had changed drastically. While the party inside still had life, even with the duel outside, the entire estate had fallen into panic.

"The Crows. Of course." Latimer sighed.

"What makes you think it's the Crows?" Sebastian asked.

"Orlesian Ball, stuffy nobles, politics… this has assassination written all over it. Trust me, I _was _an assassin, remember?"

* * *

_"Wait what?"_

_"Oh, Cadash didn't mention that? Yeah… I kind of had some side-jobs while in Kirkwall that involved stabbing undesirables in the throat for money."_

_"Striking from the shadows is a little cowardly, but it gets results."_

_"Did I mention it could start a good, healthy dose of mayhem?"_

_"…Tell me more."_

_"On your own time, Trev. Finish the story."_

* * *

"Yes, of course." Sebastian rolled his eyes. "We need to eliminate the Crows and find who had them brought in."

"Yeah. Whoever hired them wants to see their success in person. Probably gloating too." Latimer couldn't believe he was agreeing with Sebastian so soon after trying to kill him. Both men drew their weapons and rushed into the ballroom.

While the majority of the guests were rushing away in a panicked frenzy, a few had drawn their weapons to fight the assassins. Latimer joined the fray, burying his axe in the neck of a Crow that bore down on a nobleman. Giving no reprieve, he moved on to engage another assassin. Their duel lasted seconds before Latimer's axe was lodged in the assassin's side. Keeping a grip on the handle, Latimer pulled the man in a circle and embedded the other axe in the back of the assassin's head before preparing to move on again.

"Stand down!"

The cry brought the conflict to an end as two men stood in the middle of the room.

"You dare threaten the life and safety of my future wife?" A nobleman asked the commanding Crow, gesturing at a very unimpressed Breña. "I challenge you to a duel! Should you fall, your men will all leave!"

"I accept." The Crow spat.

"Hold on one second!" Latimer shouted, before the duel began. "I know Crows. This isn't how you operate! This is a set up, isn't it?"

"How dare-?"

"I can't _believe_ this, I thought I've seen _everything_… a noble hires the sodding _Crows _to _stage an attack _so he could make himself _look _like a hero in front of the Duke? Oh, _Maker_!" Latimer had to keep from laughing.

"That… that's rubbish! Lies! Slander! How dare you insult my honor?"

"We're not being paid enough for this…"

"How dare you betray me?" The noble hissed at the Crow. "You know who my father is? I'll have you-"

The noble received a knife to the gut. "Resume the attack! We'll get more in loot than in payment!"

With the man in the black calling for everyone to attack, the ballroom erupted into a blitz of violence once again. Latimer and Sebastian surprisingly worked as an efficient team, Sebastian focusing on defending nobles from the Crows at range and Latimer taking the fight to their leader.

Latimer and the leading Crow tore into each other, both axes and daggers colliding and just barely catching each other's skins. Switching his style a little, Latimer incorporated kicks, elbows, and knee strikes in his flurry, managing to relieve the assassin of one dagger. The man fought just as hard, even going as low as to try to throw sand in Latimer's eyes. However, the tactic was very common, and Latimer bypassed it by spinning around to put an axe in the Crow's shoulder blade.

"Call off your men or you die by my axe." Latimer growled, holding his free weapon to the man's throat.

"Alright, alright! We're not even Crows!" The assassin yelped. "Retreat! Run away!"

Obeying the call the men scampered off, only to be quickly cordoned off by the Duke's guards as they entered the hall. Latimer grabbed the man by the collar and dragged him towards the fallen balcony.

"Wait, you said you'd-"

"I said you'd die by my _axe_." Latimer corrected him. "I said nothing about leaving you to the hands of the Maker."

Pulling the axe from his victim's shoulder, Latimer gave the man a hard shove, sending him over the edge of the balcony and down the cliff.

"Tremendous display, young master Trevelyan!" Duke Gaston applauded him as he walked back towards the ballroom. "Unfortunately the party ends on a sour note, but we do hope you'll return soon."

"I'm sure my father can make arrangements." Latimer said with a light bow to the Duke.

"Breña was quite traumatized by the events, but I'm sure she would be overjoyed to see you again. Arranged in advance or not, you will always be welcomed on my doorstep."

* * *

"And that was the one time I attended an Orlesian Ball. They must be experienced in person to believe them." Latimer finished his fourth story.

"Why do I have the feeling that we'll be forced to attend one of these soon?" Sera asked.

"Because we'll have to impress some Orlesian royalty or nobility for political reasons… ugh." Elias shuddered. "At least we have Scribbles and Nightingale around… they know that fancy shit."

"Dorian, your turn." Latimer passed the helm to the magister. He had grown considerably more comfortable with the group. Elias was right for once. He did need to lighten up.


	5. Chapter Five: The Hurt

**A/N: **Prepare for angst. Dragon Age Inquisition #help me make it to release writing prompt: The Inquisitor and his/her current partner run into an ex. The story differs slightly from the prompt.

* * *

**Chapter Five: The Hurt**

* * *

The circle stared in amazement and horror at Elias, following the conclusion of his latest story.

"…You _stole_ cookies from a _child_?" Dorian asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow.

"Fat bastard didn't need _more_." Elias rolled his eyes.

"What kind of person steals cookies from _children_?" Sera looked somewhat distraught.

"You say that like I ate his liver in front of his parents, which I most certainly did _not _do." Elias leaned back in his chair. "I was on the road for days, food was scarce, options were limited."

"And you didn't just _buy food_?" Sera seemed ready to explode.

"Alright, alright, calm down." Iron Bull attempted to placate the elf.

"Yes, please don't make a mess of the study." Dorian commented.

"Look, I'll just take the helm and hopefully I get something interesting enough to take your mind off this 'cookie' thing." Latimer sighed reaching for the helmet.

"It's gonna have to be really juicy to distract-" Elias chuckled.

"Have you ever met an ex in a tavern?"

A chorus of 'oohs' rose into the air for the second time.

"I regret this immediately."

* * *

_"Well… I guess I have to spill more backstory. See, Mirwen and I never 'officially' hooked up. And I stayed with her and her clan for a while, but something happened where I had to leave. My 'loving' family found where I was, and was quite pissed that I ditched their Chantry for life in the dirt… with elves, no less. So some tense 'negotiating' later, I had to leave the clan, and the clan had to move to somewhere safer."_

_"Oh… that's… unpleasant."_

_"So while I was in Kirkwall, I had feelers out, trying to find where they had gone. But I met this girl there… Merrill. She was a Dalish elf who got cast out. She was lonely in Kirkwall, and we kind of hit it off. And of course that ended up turning into something physical."_

_"The plot thickens!"_

_"Don't I know it? Anyway, after awhile I figured that it was wrong to be shacking up with Merrill while searching for Mirwen, so I had to call it off. Merrill… didn't take it well."_

* * *

"I'm telling you, the coast is clear. You can stop cowering." Elias shoved Latimer through the door and into The Hanged Man.

"Says the guy who pays the waitress to signal if Varric is in the building." Latimer's sour mood did not hinder his wit.

"Ugh, fine. We'll take the back corner table. Ancestors forbid your moping should clear up after some drinks and a round of diamondback or three." Elias rolled his eyes, taking a seat with his back to the wall.

"If you say so, Cadash." Latimer mumbled.

"This is why I don't get _involved _with people. Work, ideas, ideals, sure, I can pour my time and energy into that kind of thing. But people? No way… at least not _that _much energy." Elias lectured, motioning for drinks to be brought over. "I know you kids need your physical affection, I'll admit to spending a night a month at the Rose, but when you get feelings? That's where it can get soured."

"I still feel bad though." Latimer said after his first sip.

"Yeah, well there's not much you can do right now. So just relax, cheer up, and you'll handle it when there's been breathing room for the both of ye." Elias said, pulling out a deck of cards.

"I might be more susceptible to believe you after my third tankard." Latimer rolled his eyes.

"That's the spirit!" The dwarf laughed.

"…You do know I've never played diamondback, right?"

Elias's smile immediately dropped.

"No… what about wicked grace?"

"Nope." Latimer shrugged.

"What do you know?" Elias asked, trying to shake off his look of horror.

"This matching game, forget what it's called. You draw five per hand, and try to guess a card in the other guy's hand. You get a pair, you put it down and ask again. You guess wrong, you pick up from the deck. When the deck is empty, the player with the most pairs wins the game."

"Hmm. If it gets you out of your slump…" Elias mumbled, dealing five cards to himself and five to Latimer. "…So do you even know _any _gambling games?"

"Liar's dice, but I don't exactly carry dice around." Latimer shrugged. "Have any threes?"

"Nah. You have any twos?"

"Nope. Fours?"

"Yep." Elias passed over a card. "Fives?"

"No. Hey… weird question… that elf you were physical with… she have messy brown hair?" Elias asked as Latimer drew from the deck.

"…Yes." Latimer asked, growing nervous.

"And she has tattoos on her face, yeah?"

"…Yes."

"Well, she just walked in with the pirate." Elias gestured to the entryway.

Latimer froze, too afraid to turn around.

"Hmm… she does look down. Pirate's getting her a drink… wow, she downed that fast. Doesn't look like she used to alcohol though by her reaction." Elias gave a play-by-play rundown of the events that unfolded behind Latimer's back.

"I don't need narration, I need a way out of here." Latimer hissed under his breath.

"Yeah, good luck with that." Elias scoffed. "They're at the bar. No way you're getting out unseen."

"Flames." Latimer cursed.

"Look, I'll keep an eye out, just stay calm, keep drinking, and we'll keep at the game." Elias tried to sound soothing, but his gruff voice did no favors. "Now… any niners?"

"Yeah." Latimer passed over a card.

"Aces?"

Latimer passed another card.

"Tenners?"

"Nope."

"Having fun?"

Both men looked up from their game. Latimer's eyes widened slightly in recognition and fear.

Isabella.

"Yeah. Dumb kid doesn't know diamondback, so we're playing some matching game instead…" Elias grumbled. "Are you looking to join in, or what?"

"Actually, I need to have a few words with this one, can I borrow him?" Isabella put an arm around Latimer's shoulder.

"Not my business." Elias shrugged. "Work out your issues, kiddo!"

"What? Don't I get a say in this?" Latimer protested as Isabella dragged him up the stairs. Looking back, he could see Elias give another apathetic shrug. The pirate dragged him up into Varric's room.

"Varric, your old 'friend' Elias is downstairs, if you wanted to have words with him." Isabella said. "I'm going to need some time with this one."

"And you can't get your own room?" Varric asked, raising an eyebrow as he stood from his seat by the fire.

"It may surprise you to know that on this occasion, it's not about sex." Isabella said, pinning Latimer to the wall with a knife.

Latimer could hear the dwarf walk across the room and close the door behind him, but he was much more attuned to the very angry look on Isabella's face.

"Give me one good reason not to cut your balls off."

"Would you accept that it's complicated?" Latimer gave an incredibly nervous and weak smile.

"You're going to apologize to Merrill and explain yourself to her. Got it?" Isabella pulled the dagger out of the wall, pointing it at Latimer's throat. Latimer could only nod as Isabella left the room. Taking a deep breath, he paced the room nervously as he waited for them to come back.

* * *

_"It's kind of funny. I have a hard time picturing you… nervous like that. Broody, yeah, but pacing around like you're waiting for your date to show up?"_

_"It was more like being walked to the executioner's-"_

_"I was surprised too, believe me. He's like a schoolgirl."_

_"Thanks, I needed that mental image."_

_"Look, it's hard enough to tell this story without interruptions."_

* * *

When the door opened again, Merrill stormed in with a fury Latimer had never seen before.

"Merrill, I-"

His words were cut off by a bone-shattering slap. Merrill shook out her hand, Latimer held his jaw, and even Isabella winced at the impact.

"If you wanted me to apologize, breaking my jaw was not a good first step." Latimer's attempt at humour failed to lighten Merrill's mood.

"You broke my heart." Merrill sounded broken and angry, which somehow hurt Latimer even more to hear.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Oh? And that's supposed to make me feel better?" Merrill asked a piercing question.

"Merrill, believe me, I didn't walk in with the intent to hurt you." Latimer tried to resist the urge to comfort the elf, but that would likely end with another slap in the face.

"Well you did. Why did you bother saying that you loved me if you were just going to turn around and leave me at the drop of a hat?" Merrill crossed her arms.

"Because I _did _love you Merrill, I still do… it's just…" Latimer sighed. "Okay. You want the truth? You want to know why I'm in Kirkwall? Why I had to leave you?"

Merrill nodded, tears forming in her eyes. Isabella continued to eye him carefully.

"My parents wanted me in the Templars. I wanted nothing to do with them, or the Chantry, or any of that… so I ran to Ferelden. And you know what happened there. Vathornhel's clan saved me… well… a very specific person did. Her name was Mirwen. We were close… very close. We travelled across the sea together when the Blight struck. Well… my family found me, and they were going to wipe out her clan if I didn't go home with them. I struck a deal to go to Kirkwall's Chantry instead. And Mirwen's clan moved on… and I've been trying to find her ever since."

Following his speech, Latimer finally felt courageous enough to move toward Merrill.

"I feel very strongly for you Merrill. I really do. But I love Mirwen too. I can't be in a relationship with one love while I'm searching for another. How would I explain it to her? How would I have explained it to you? I decided that it was wrong of me to string you along, and I cut you loose before you could get _really _hurt."

Latimer placed his hands on Merrill's shoulders.

"Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?"

Merrill was silent for a time before embracing Latimer, crying into his shoulder.

"You're worth more to me than a purely physical relationship… and I can't hurt you with more than friendship. Ir abelas, emma lath. Ma'arlath." Latimer said, planting a kiss on the elf's forehead.

* * *

Latimer was understandably quiet following the latest story. The party had soured a little, and everyone was desperately searching for a way to lighten the mood.

"Were things ruined between the two of you?" Sera asked.

"No. After a month or so of things being a little weird, we kind of got back into the groove of being friends… although there were a few times after when we were both drunk…" Latimer laughed awkwardly. "I mean, I guess it's kind of okay, considering Mirwen and I were never officially 'together' but I still tried to avoid committed relationships, so I could stay open for her. But still, it felt like I was betraying her. You know?"

"Not really." Elias said.

"Of course you don't. So, how did your chat with Varric go?" Latimer asked the dwarf to his right.

"Ah… well, he accused me of copying the designs for his crossbow, we played cards, had a few drink, punched each other in the face, nearly got thrown out…" Elias listed off. "In no particular order"

"Maker forbid you two ever have to work with each other." Dorian commented. "Let's hope you stay on opposite sides of the keep."

"Well, the Inquisition _needs _me." Elias grinned. "If not for my ingenious traps or charming good looks…"

"What about the time at Haven…" Latimer started.

"Hey! Those buildings were not stable! Very unsafe working environment!" Elias listed excuses.

"…I don't wanna know." Sera leaned away from the dwarf.

"You mentioned that you were almost in the Templars?" Dorian asked, changing the subject.

"Yeah… when I was younger, they tried me out with sword and shield, but I never really got it. Couldn't lift the big swords either. I guess it never clicked with them to give me daggers and a bow until I was already gone." Latimer rolled his eyes.

"But you _did _go back, even unwillingly?" Sera asked.

"Yeah… the Templars were trying out this new brand of soldier, their version of an assassin, I guess. I managed to worm my way out of that before they could force me to take the vows and drug me with lyrium. As horrible as the Breach was, it did do me a few favors."

"What favors?" Iron Bull asked.

"It got me out from under the Templar's thumb, it killed my oppressive parents, and it gave me that fade… power… thing." Latimer listed off the benefits.

"And now we gotta save the world." Elias said, allowing the weight of his words to settle around the room.

"Not tonight. Tonight we can relax and get to know each other a little better than we'd like." Latimer grinned.

"As long as everybody keeps his or her pants on… I'm happy." Elias muttered, to the amusement of those around him.


	6. Chapter Six: The Thieving Magpie

**A/N:** If you were wondering about our favourite dwarf (Varric and Oghren excluded), here's a closer look at where he fits into Latimer's story.

* * *

**Chapter Six: The Thieving Magpie **

* * *

"So I walked right into this group of Templars, the one just been accused of worshiping 'the great demon', and I try to stay in-character, and I say, 'Are you Ser Conrad? I gotta shipment of raw lyrium 'ere for ya. Please sign.'" Elias burst out laughing at the end of his story.

"…That would never have worked if that one man wasn't plastered drunk." Sera deadpanned.

"So we would've got him drunk first!" Elias stopped laughing to give his rebuttal.

"Alright ladies, calm your tits." Latimer sighed, reaching for the helmet. "How did you meet one of your friends?"

"What friends?" Elias asked. Latimer glared at him while the other three occupants attempted to hide their amusement.

"Well, there's the time I met _you_…" Latimer started.

"Uhhh, I think it'd be more interesting if you talked about the time you met the redhead." Elias started twiddling his thumbs.

"Oh, is there a story here?" Sera asked, giving a slightly sinister smile.

"There most definitely _is_." Latimer said. "Let me think… how _did_ I meet our favorite artificer?"

"I hate you."

* * *

_"I'd say it was my… second week in Kirkwall. After getting… acquainted with Isabella, she lent me some contacts to find work. Granted, said work was incredibly illegal. One of the jobs was for the Red Iron mercenary group, to take out a noble that one of their guys missed. Another time I had to whack a dwarven noble for the Carta. So I guess I accidentally opened up an assassination service."_

_"How do you 'accidentally' open up an assassination service?"_

_"By killing a few rich people for money, I guess. Apparently I made a bit of a name for myself because two things happened. One, an information broker known as The Shadow got ahold of me, and offered me a more 'official' position with their organization. This led to number two, the job where I Elias Cadash."_

* * *

Latimer looked curiously at his instructions.

"…So I'm supposed to meet up with this… Cadash guy, help him with his debt, and then convince him to ditch the Carta for us?"

"Hey, my job was just to bring you your instructions, not hold your hand while you do yours." The hooded courier grumbled.

"Can you at _least_ tell me about who I'm dealing with?" Latimer asked, with heavy cynicism in his voice. "And yes, I know the name is on the flaming letter."

"Elias Cadash is the Carta's resident engineering and alchemical genius. Apparently the only reasons he works exclusively with them are their resources, and his crippling debt. The Shadow wants you to settle his debt, if that wasn't abundantly clear." The hooded courier got up and left without so much as a 'good luck'.

Latimer already longed for the day he'd be able to work with The Shadow without the unpleasant and rude middlemen. But this was his first job, and he apparently needed to prove himself beyond his resume. Finishing his drink, Latimer left the Hanged Man, giving a nod to the bartender on the way out.

Stepping into the sun, Latimer was briefly blinded and walked directly into someone.

"Sorry, it's brighter out here." Latimer said on reflex as he reached down to help the young woman up.

"Oh, I'm as much at fault… I wasn't paying attention to where I was going." As Latimer helped pull the elven woman from the ground, he noticed the tattoos on her face. Immediately something clicked in the back of his head.

"I've seen you before… you're Dalish, right? Weren't you Marethari's First?" Latimer asked.

"I… I was." Merrill said sadly, looking down at the ground. But her demeanour shifted quite suddenly. "Oh, aren't you one of the humans that stayed with us for awhile?"

"I am." Latimer said, smiling a little. "I don't think we were ever properly introduced. My name's Latimer."

"I'm Merrill." The elf said, standing awkwardly for a moment. "…Are we supposed to shake hands?"

"It's customary." Latimer shrugged, shaking Merrill's hand.

"Does this mean we're friends now? I mean, I don't have many friends other than Hawke, and Varric, and Isabella…" Merrill listed off.

"If it pleases you." Latimer smiled a little at the quirky elf. "Do you live in the alienage?"

"Yes. It's… okay, I guess. A bit lonely." Merrill kicked the dirt a little.

"Well, I have some work to do… how about I visit sometime after my job's done?"

"Oh, that'd be lovely!" Merrill lit up. "It was nice to officially meet you, Latimer."

"Likewise."

* * *

_"Maker, you just run into people like that?"_

_"Yeah. Funny how that is, isn't it?"_

_"Yeah, you could keep telling about how you met Sebastian, or that mage who exploded the Chantry, or…"_

_"Oh don't try to sweet-talk me out of this, Cadash. Consider this payback for dragging me in here."_

_"Well, you had fun, didn't you?"_

_"I'm gonna have more fun soon enough."_

* * *

According to the letter, the Carta had a small base of operations at the Kirkwall docks. So Latimer made his way down, passing the hard gaze of a Qunari warrior on his way. Latimer had a bad feeling about them being there. As far as he knew, they were all warriors, and cooping a bunch of warriors together for a long period of time always had consequences for the surrounding area. Hopefully whatever circumstances kept them there (and the chances of it simply being waiting for a ship as they claimed were incredibly slim) would be resolved soon.

To gain entry to the Carta's base of operations, The Shadow also set Latimer up with an assassination job on behalf of the Carta. He was to go into one of their headquarters to pick up his assignment. According to his instructions, the base was in a warehouse on the east side. What is it with the warehouses in Kirkwall? Are they actually used for storage, or are they there solely for criminal get-togethers and adulterous trysts? Finding the address, Latimer knocked in a rhythmic pattern.

"Put the coin in the slot."

Doing as instructed, Latimer pushed a coin bearing a dwarven seal through a hole in the door. After a few seconds, it was opened.

"Boss is waiting for ya." The armored doorman droned, unreadable underneath his helmet.

Under the scrutiny of the criminal dwarves, which is hard when you're twice their height, Latimer was led into an office, occupied by two dwarves. One dwarf had a strip of facial hair on his chin and a mutton chop beard that stopped abruptly at ear level. Apparently, this guy shaved the sides of his head, and gathered the rest into a ponytail. The other dwarf looked a lot more… traditional in comparison. He had a braided mustache and beard combo that extended up into a traditional ponytail. Both men looked alike… and were probably brothers or cousins.

"You know… The Shadow never said who they'd be sending. And using your real name in the crime business is really sodding stupid. Kid, you need an alias, just some friendly advice from a pro." One dwarf said, feet on a desk.

"Shut up Elias, he's here to fix your mess." The other dwarf barked. He extended his hand to Latimer. "The name's Cephas Cadash, if this goes well, you'll be working with us a little more often."

"A pleasure to meet you both." Latimer nodded respectfully, shaking the dwarf's hand. "What's the job?"

"With King Harrowmont on the throne, things have gotten pretty bad in Orzammar. So, the Carta moved a lot of operations to the surface world. This has not come without setbacks, and I need you to eliminate one of those setbacks." Cephas paced the room.

"The target's name is Pauloc Dustan." Elias spoke up. "He's some casteless who ditched the system to make a real name for himself. He never was very well liked in the Merchant's Guild. Now he's pissed us off too."

"Is it my business to know what he did?" Latimer asked.

"Well, he paid us pretty well to help him solidify himself in Hightown. Now that he's there, he quit paying up. We'd like him dead, and as much of his vault cleared out as possible." Elias resumed briefing.

"Elias will be going with you, as part of The Shadow's request. Also so he can test out a few of his… whatever the hell he calls them." Cephas shrugged.

"Salves, Cephas. It's not hard to remember." Elias rubbed his eyes.

* * *

_"I don't get how this is embarrassing yet. I mean, it just sounds like a normal job- well… normal for you."_

_"Oh… I'm getting there."_

* * *

Latimer leaned against the alley wall as Elias sorted through bottles and jars in his satchel.

"So tell me, what the point of all this?" Latimer asked.

"These salves can change your hair color and length. Could make a fortune off em, but them they'd be too common to use in the business effectively. Plan is, I disguise myself as the duster, walk into the vault, and have them haul it all out for us. Meanwhile, you find and shank the sod. He always leaves his house around this time of day to go walking with his bodyguards." Elias said, applying the salve to the sides of his head.

"Ok, sounds good and all, but this isn't my only job." Latimer said.

"Come again?"

"The Shadow wants your expertise, and so they've sent me to help eliminate your debt." Latimer continued, still leaned against the alley.

"Huh. That's great actually. Cephas always was a prick." Elias stopped his transformation for a moment. "Well, if you wanna help with that, something's gonna have to be done about Cephas."

"You want me to kill your… what is he to you?" Latimer asked.

"Cousin, and no. He's more useful alive." Elias grinned. "We just need to get ahold of some letters of his in the Dustan estate. Apparently, he's been shagging with the a few prominent members of the Merchant Guild, and Pauloc got the letters. That's actually the main reason he's got the hit out on him. We gotta get the letters for ourselves."

"Is that all?" Latimer scoffed.

"Unfortunately not. If you want my _gambling_ debt gone, we got extra work to do. When we drop off the loot at the warehouse, you need to sneak into the treasurer's office and alter the numbers in their log. That way, my debt to the Carta will be paid… preferably in some other sod's name. Now we've wasted too much time. We need to get to work." Elias brought out a mirror to paint the casteless brand onto his cheek.

"You got this all figured out, haven't you?" Latimer peered out of the alleyway.

"Damn right. Now, just splat a bit of blood on my armor here, and I'll rush in and get em to pack the loot. Then you need to get up the side of the building and into the second floor. You should scale the west side of the building so it'll be easier. The letters will likely be in a safe or locked chest in the study… and if you pick the right window, you'll be right there. Otherwise, just look for the room with the bookshelves, comfy chair, and the long desk. Then, get back out and stab the nug-humper in the face or something like that." The dwarf finalized his disguise and his instructions. "Now I'll rush in for the distraction, get to it."

With that, Elias stumbled quickly out of the alley, shouting at the guards outside of the estate. Meanwhile, Latimer nonchalantly walked from the darkness and across the street. Reaching the west side, he quickly scaled the building, slipping into the open window on the second floor and dropping lazily inside.

"What in the-?" A voice called out as Latimer looked up from the floor to see a dwarven couple in their bed, desperately trying to cover up.

"…This is _not_ the study." Latimer said in flat horror.

"What are you doing here? You know what, never mind. You keep your mouth shut about this, and we'll keep our mouths shut about you!" The man sputtered.

"Where's the study?" Latimer asked.

"Next room over, on your right." The woman replied.

"Thank you. All apologies, and may you enjoy yourselves." Latimer responded dryly.

"As if! You ruined the sodding mood!" He heard the man respond as he slipped out of the bedroom and into the hall. As he crept across the floor, Latimer could faintly hear Elias's shouting throughout the house.

"Hurry, you idiots, we don't have time! They're onto me! We need to get this out of the house before they can get it!"

Obviously things were working on the dwarf's end. For his part, Latimer was doing… well enough. He might have to take up the Grand Cleric's offer to help him cleanse his mind of walking in on the dwarves. Okay, stop thinking about them. Shaking his focus back to his job, Latimer slid into the study.

The room was highly organized, almost obsessively so. Books were arranged alphabetically in their shelves by title. Nothing was dirty or skewed from its place. The armchair was placed perfectly in line with the fireplace; the desk and its accompanying chair were perfectly in line with the back wall, framed between the bookshelves… Latimer was tempted to ruin the pristine state of the room just for spite. However, his job was to crack open the safe for the blackmail letters inside.

The trick about safecracking is… well… sod it. It's actually quite difficult. Which is why Latimer preferred to simply melt the locks off by coating a specially made knife with a highly acidic substance and carve into the metal box. After cutting through the hinges and the lock, the door fell into Latimer's waiting free hand. Reaching into the safe, Latimer found that even the safe was organized to sickening perfection. Grabbing the stack of letters labeled 'Carta – Cadash', the assassin stood and turned to leave, only to see a single guard standing in awe.

"Uhhh… I can explain." Latimer started flatly. However when the guard prepared to shout, Latimer flung the acidic dagger at the guard's throat. Unfortunately, the dagger landed hilt-first, and did nothing but cause him to temporarily cough and choke. Despite that, Latimer was able to use the distraction to deliver a running knee strike to the dwarf's head.

With the dwarf stunned or unconscious in the doorway, and no window to escape in the study, Latimer rushed back down the hall to the room he entered in. Throwing open the door and dropping out the open window to the horror of the dwarven couple he had interrupted… twice.

When Latimer reached the front of the mansion, a curious scene lay before him. On one hand, Elias Cadash, still in his disguise, aided by servants carrying chests filled with gold. On the other hand, the _real _Pauloc Duston, not injured in the slightest, and accompanied by his two bodyguards.

"What sorcery is this?" Pauloc shouted. "How do you have my face, imposter?"

"What do you mean, 'your face'?" Elias countered, perfectly mimicking the duster's voice, "Did you think your attack on me was successful enough? You should've checked the body before you attempted to impersonate me!"

"I impersonate no man, imposter!"

"Well, I am me, and you look like me, and you can't be me, because _I'm _me!"

"…_What_?"

"Oh, Maker…" Latimer rubbed his eyes on the sidelines, while reaching for an arrow. No one seemed to notice as Latimer nocked the arrow in his bow, drew back, and fired, piercing through the casteless dwarf's head as they argued.

"There. He's dead. Now please, shut the sod up and carry on! I need a flaming drink…" Latimer shouted over to the dwarves. When the two bodyguards raised their weapons, Elias fired a crossbow bolt into each of their heads.

"Thanks for the distraction and assistance stranger. I'll see you rewarded. Boys, hurry! Before more arrive! Human, come with us, we'll need your help." Elias shouted over, keeping in character.

* * *

_"So we had them haul our loot right to the Carta warehouse doorstep before axing them off and dropping them in the harbor."_

_"That's cold."_

_"That's assassination for you."_

_"So where's the embarrassing part?"_

_"Oh… it's coming…"_

_"Ancestors save me."_

* * *

"So we got your letters." Latimer said, sitting in the Hanged Man with Elias. "Now we gotta get your debt settled. Where's that warehouse?"

"It's the same one we dropped the loot off at. They won't let us in if we showed back up, not without prior notice from the boss." Elias said into his tankard.

Suddenly, Latimer's eyes lit up. "I got an idea."

"Really? What is it?" Elias asked, putting the now-empty tankard on the table.

"I'll explain when we get there. Stay in shadows." Latimer cryptically replied as he rushed the dwarf out the door.

For the entire walk to the Carta Warehouse, Latimer was silent, and shushed Elias's attempts to question the rogue's plan. It was late, and the moon hung directly over the dockyard when the pair arrived.

"Now… have you got your salves?" Latimer asked.

"Yes…?" Elias responded slowly. "What's your game?"

"You're going to disguise yourself as a woman, and keep their attention while I slip in." Latimer said plainly.

"What?! Are you… are you serious? Are you crazy?" Elias nearly exploded.

"Yes, and yes. In the dark, it'll be hard to tell until it's too late. You just gotta shave, grow out a little more… maybe stuff some coconut shells under your shirt…" Latimer listed off.

"No way. This is insane. No." Elias prepared to stomp off.

"Well, I suppose you'll stay in debt to the Carta." Latimer said in a singsong tone, stopping the dwarf in his tracks.

"…By the beards of my Ancestors… this had better work, and you had better not say anything about this, or I swear on the Paragons…" Elias threatened.

"I swear on Andraste's tits that I'll speak of this to no one… unless I need to use it for blackmail purposes." Latimer grinned.

"Oh go sod yourself." Elias grumbled as he drew a knife and began shaving.

Latimer remained respectfully silent, save for a few barely stifled bursts of laughter, as Elias trimmed his beard away and reformatted his ponytail into pigtails. Next, he was forced into a dress that Latimer had accidentally picked up during his escape from the Duston estate. Finally, Elias was fitted with two halves of a coconut shell, stuffed with fabric stolen from a nearby stall.

"I hate you, human." He grumbled.

"This human is getting you out of debt, and will likely end up the best damn friend you ever had. Now go get 'em tiger." Latimer barely kept from laughing.

"I sodding _hate_ you." Elias grumbled, forcing himself to strut up to the warehouse guards. Latimer could barely hear the dwarf's attempt at a seductive feminine voice over his own failing attempts at silence. However, he managed to muffle himself when Elias led the guards away from the front door.

Slipping inside, Latimer quickly made his way to the treasurer's office… funny how all the warehouses in Kirkwall had almost the exact same layout. Reaching the logbook, Latimer added an entry in which Elias's extensive debt was paid… and at the expense of the Templars. Leaving, Latimer was greeted by an angry cross-dressed dwarf with two unconscious dwarves nearby.

"Is it done?"

"Yeah."

"Ancestors be praised! Now help me get out of this dress!"

Latimer burst into laughter.

* * *

And laughter spread around the room, with the exception of the dwarf in his armchair.

"It's not sodding funny."

"Oh, come on Elias! You probably looked absolutely beautiful in a dress." Sera teased.

"I hate you." Elias grumbled under his breath as the group continued to laugh. In fact, the laughter continued for a full five minutes before calming down.

"Done yet? Good. Dorian's turn." Elias's tone had changed, but Latimer knew the dwarf would settle down eventually. His pride was wounded, but he'd make a full recovery soon.


	7. Chapter Seven: The River

**A/N:** I'm sorry for the shortness of this one… I hope to make up for it in the remaining chapters. In other news, no, I do not have a copy of Inquisition. I have decided to hold off on buying any more console games until I've upgraded to the next generation. However, you can bet your ass that I'll get it as soon as an Xbox One or PS4 is in my permanent possession. One final piece of information: this story is fully finished. I hope to stick to the "every two days" post schedule. _The Confessions Of A Semi-Reformed Assassin _will finish it's run at ten chapters, the tenth being the shortest. And now our featured presentation… _Family Issues II: Electric Boogaloo_.

* * *

**Chapter Seven: The River**

* * *

"I mean, the Cadash line was warrior caste, and I'm the furthest thing from _that_. So in conclusion, Orzammar can stuff it, their traditions can stuff it, and I swear on my Ancestors if I meet that warden, I'm gonna slap her right in the tits for putting that backwards-ass traditionalist nug-humper on the throne!"

Everyone was quiet as the dwarven artificer finished his rant on his homeland. No one had ever seen the dwarf _truly _furious before, and it was slightly off-putting.

"…Well. That was… uhh… interesting." Sera coughed into her hand.

"We have similar views." Dorian said. "Our homelands could be doing much better than they are."

"Damn right." Elias grumbled, drinking from his tankard.

"I'm just going to take the next paper now…" Latimer said slowly, reaching for the helmet. "Who was your best friend during your childhood?"

* * *

_"Well… to be fair I didn't have many childhood friends because I was stuck in the Chantry against my will. I mean I had… acquaintances, and not long before I left for Ferelden I had a few trysts with the less pious, more hormonal young women of the cloth."_

_"Did they recite the chant during sex? After sex?"_

_"Only Mariam did… Elizabeth and Katherine? No."_

_"You smooth sod!"_

_"My teenage seductive tactics aside, I didn't have anyone to really talk to about my concerns and problems, except for my sister, Rosaline. She's the only member of my family that I give a damn about."_

* * *

Latimer sat on the edge of the 'd come here when in need of relaxation, which was very often. Osborn's self-righteous attitude had gotten worse, and he seemed to get a sick satisfaction at lording over his younger brother, and bringing him to the Revered Mother for the slightest infraction. It was becoming unbearable. If that wasn't enough, Osborn had turned most of the boys against Latimer. They'd taunt and beat on him, he'd fight back, Osborn would haul him to the Revered Mother… it was an endless cycle.

"Well, at least you haven't drowned yourself yet."

Latimer didn't bother turning around at the sound of his sister's voice. It was just part of the routine.

"Not yet. Considering it, though." Latimer responded as Rosaline sat down next to him.

"I don't think the Maker would want you to harm yourself." Rosaline said softly.

"Well, you know just what I think of _that_." Latimer responded sharply. However, he winced at the venom in his words. "Sorry, sister… it's just… getting harder to deal with Osborn."

"Well it shouldn't be long before he leaves for Templar training… a year at most. But you're not planning on staying that long." Latimer had to give his sister credit, Rosaline was perceptive.

"I don't belong here. I know you love it here, like you found meaning or whatever, but I really _don't_ feel the same. It's like… they're all hypocrites. I doubt the Maker is like what the Chantry says he is… but if he's really that spiteful, or worse… then he doesn't deserve my attention. I'd like to think him compassionate, yet subtle… but his followers are just…" Latimer let himself fall backwards onto the grass.

"If it helps, I believe the maker is compassionate. I believe he shows himself everyday in our lives through the simplest ways. He's the shower of rain to a desperate farmer. He's the kind passerby to the homeless orphan. And I believe he has a path designed for each of us to walk." Rosaline lay back comfortably, staring into the sky.

"Really?" Latimer scoffed.

"Mmhmm. My path is in the Chantry… but whether it takes me to the Templars or the priesthood, I can't tell yet. I suppose I'll learn soon enough." Rosaline shrugged.

"Yeah? And what do you think mine is? Not stuck suffering here, I hope." Latimer remained embittered.

"No… I don't think you're meant to be here… definitely not with the Templars, at least."

Latimer sat up in confusion.

"You've got a destiny somewhere out there… you just need to find it. I know you've been planning on leaving, and I think it'll be good for you. Maybe the Maker will lead you to where you're meant to be." Rosaline was always so sure of herself, and almost radiated wisdom beyond her years. It amazed Latimer to no end.

"So… this suffering is part of the plan?" Latimer asked, desperately clinging to his negativity.

"All roads have rough patches. In that way, there is always senseless evil in life. I can't say it's part of the grand plan, but I can say that surviving it can lead you to a better place than you were before. Darkness is always snuffed out by light. The sun can't be hidden forever."

Latimer was stunned silent as Rosaline sat back up, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

"So when you go, go knowing the Maker stands with you… even if you don't know if you stand with him. And I will stand by you from across any distance."

"Thanks, sister…" Latimer said, letting a moment of silence sink in. "…I wonder what kind of path Osborn is on?"

"His own…" Rosaline said with a bit of distaste evident, "I'm not sure he does what he does for the right reason. But in the end, we reap what we sow. He had best mature out of his… habits and plant better seeds in the future."

Latimer had to give a small chuckle.

"Now come on. We'd best head back."

* * *

"And she was there at the docks as I hopped on that ship to Ferelden. Honestly, I'm considering putting up with Cullen for a moment if it means I can request we bring her in. She'd do a lot more good here than she did with the Templars." Latimer said.

"That was a shorter tale than the others." Iron Bull commented.

"Well, not all stories are long epic narratives of love and bloodshed. Sometimes it's as simple as a single memory that sticks out." Latimer shrugged, subconsciously tapping into his sister's wisdom.

"Well said." Dorian commented.

"What? No applause?" Latimer asked.

"You know, I wonder that _all _the time." Dorian replied.


	8. Chapter Eight: The Unforgiven

**A/N: **Angst, Drama, and Fluff, oh my!

* * *

**Chapter Eight: The Unforgiven**

* * *

"So despite the arguments that _always _come with being in a business with your family, I'd say we're still a cohesive, functional unit." Elias finished a lengthy story about his ancestral history.

"…Your family is _literally_ a crime family." Sera deadpanned.

"Well, we _were _warrior caste until somebody back in the line ditched for surface life… and I'm _not _getting back into dwarven politics again, but since whoever it was, a section of the family has been closely tied to lyrium smuggling and other nefarious deeds." Elias intentionally over-dramatized his response.

"And what do you say about some of them trying to kill you?" Iron Bull asked.

"Families fight and argue. Business partners backstab for money. I have the unfortunate distinction of _both_ of those overlapping. I just think about whether they're there for me or not at the end of the day. I mean, I blackmailed Cephas to basically go into business for myself for a few years, but we still had each other's backs. Uncle Duron on the other hand… was a total _dick_. Old bastard tried to axe me off for no reason… well, _he _had a reason, but it was a shitty one that made no sense to anybody but him." Elias shrugged and kicked his feet up and onto the table.

"Speaking of families…" Latimer interrupted, holding the helm and a piece of paper from within. "Who is your worst enemy?"

"…Why are you getting all the heavy questions?" Sera asked.

"That's not _entirely_ true… do you remember when Iron Bull had to answer if he 'even lifts'?" Dorian asked.

* * *

_"Well… there's one incident that really solidified my familial relationships. I may have alluded to it in an earlier story, actually."_

_"Give me a recap, I may not have been listening."_

_"Don't be an ass, dwarf."_

_"Ok, short-ish version? When I was with the Sabrae clan, this Grey Warden showed up to warn us about the Blight. So while they moved to… wherever they went, I returned to Mirwen's clan. And when I told them about the Blight, Vathornhel decided to take the entire clan across the sea. So we bought ourselves passage and found a nice spot on the coastline of the Free Marches. Vathornhel still wasn't really that… human-friendly, so he set my living place just separate from the camp, towards the road."_

_"I thought you said that was the short version?"_

_"Oh, I'm sorry. Did you want me to elaborate on taking care of fifteen seasick elves for two weeks?"_

_"…Point taken."_

_"Anyway, I was there for awhile, despite… you know, being in the sodding Free Marches. Where my family is from. It defied all logic, really, but I stayed for Mirwen."_

_"And you two never shacked up? Ancestors, Trev…"_

_"Could you not? Please? To wrap up the backstory, I was responsible for dealing with travellers, traders, and trespassers."_

* * *

Latimer sat on one of the logs he placed outside his tent. On the log across from him, Mirwen sat with a bowl of stew. The two spent nearly all of their time together, and always had at least one meal a day in each other's presence.

"So we really didn't have _too _much trouble with travellers while you were gone. The clan really picked up some tricks from you, but it wasn't the same. I mean, most humans wouldn't want to… what's the word? 'Negotiate'? Negotiate with elves… and to be honest, the Keeper wasn't the best person to be dealing with humans. But nobody _died_…"

Latimer had a bit of a grin as he sat back listening to Mirwen. He had really missed this, even though the two had only been separated for a few months. His time with the Sabrae clan was enlightening, but he spent most of it talking with the other human who was there. She taught him some of the elven language, he taught her some of his fighting style, and they shared stories. Latimer did not spend too much time with the Sabrae elves, feeling a little unwelcome and out of place, as he had when he first arrived with Mirwen.

"Did you hear that?" Mirwen suddenly interrupted her story. "I think someone's coming."

Keeping his eyes glued to the path, Latimer listened intently. After a few seconds, he heard the sounds of sticks trampled under armor.

"They don't seem to be walking like traders… and the steps are heavy." Mirwen whispered.

"Mirwen, I want you to get behind some cover, and be ready to run back to the clan on a moment's notice." Latimer prepared his bow. "If they're hostile, we're going to have a serious problem. But they may not know there's a clan of elves nearby."

The elf nodded and rushed behind Latimer's tent. Arrow at the ready, Latimer waited for the figure to step out from behind the cliff face. The figure was dressed in silvery-white armor, with a full helm. The image of a sword was featured prominently on the chest of the armor.

Templars.

Latimer fired his first arrow into the tree directly in front of the holy warrior, nocking the next in an instant.

"That's a warning shot. Come no further, unless you want the next one in your neck. What's your business here?" Latimer shouted over.

"Apologies, serah. I've been looking for survivors of a bandit incursion. A caravan of transferring mages was attacked between Ostwick and Kirkwall… wait. Latimer?" The voice was definitely feminine, but unrecognizable under the helmet.

"How do you know my name?" Latimer was preparing himself to fire the arrow when the Templar lifted her helm. "Rosaline?"

"You're alive!"

As Latimer all but threw his bow to the ground, the siblings raced towards each other for an embrace. Unfortunately, Rosaline's heavy armor crushed Latimer under its weight.

"I was so worried about you, when I heard that the Blight had struck Ferelden…" Rosaline attempted to lighten her grip on her long-lost brother.

"There's a long story behind that… come, sit with me." Latimer walked towards the camp. "It's alright, Mirwen, you can come back."

Mirwen peeked out for a moment from behind the tent before slowly joining the siblings.

"Rosaline, I'd like you to meet Mirwen. She saved my life not long after I landed in Ferelden. Mirwen, this is my sister… and the only tolerable person in my family, Rosaline." Latimer stood between the two women, secretly anxious of their reactions to each other.

"Andaran atish'an, Rosaline." Mirwen's nervousness had mostly faded when Latimer introduced her as his sister.

"Maker's blessings on you, Mirwen." Rosaline bowed before turning briefly to Latimer. "Your sweetheart is very beautiful."

Mirwen and Latimer immediately turned bright red.

"Well… we… aren't… uhhh…" Latimer mumbled.

"Oh. My apologies, I didn't mean to bring trouble." Rosaline bowed again.

"It's okay… why don't you sit with us? I must have been a long time since you've seen each other." Mirwen gestured to the logs, sitting back down where she had been before.

"I'd like that. Thank you." Rosaline sat down next to Mirwen, while Latimer resumed his place across from them. "What happened after you left?"

"Well, I got off in Amaranthine, but I was told I should go to Denerim. While on my way to Denerim, my travelling companions told me I'd be better off going to Lothering or Redcliffe. On my way through the forest some bandits attacked. Next thing I know, Mirwen here was tending to my wounds. She talked it over with their clan, and they let me recover." Latimer told the bare bones of the story, but Rosaline listened intently.

"Thank you, Mirwen. I owe you a debt for saving his life." Rosaline hugged the elf next to her.

"It was no trouble… except for convincing the Keeper to let him stay, that was a little hard." Mirwen awkwardly returned the hug.

"The Keeper didn't plan on letting me stay for long, but I helped keep peace between their clan and some human villages, so they let me stay as a diplomat of sorts. I'm really happy here."

"You've found your path. That's so good to hear." Rosaline smiled.

"I suppose it goes without saying that you can't tell the rest of the family." Latimer could not hide his concern as he glanced over to Mirwen for a split second.

"I will say nothing of this to them." Rosaline responded.

"Thank you." Latimer let out a sigh of relief. "So you're a Templar?"

"Yes. I believe this is the path the Maker has guided me to. I believe can be a greater help to people this way." Rosaline was smiling a little. While Latimer knew she must believe what she was saying, he could not hide his reaction.

"And what of the mages that… some Templars lord over?" He asked, barely hiding his disgust. "Please tell me you haven't turned into Osborn. Please tell me I'm not going to have to see you turn into a mindless addict."

"While some of my fellows use more force than necessary, I can assure you that I keep my sword sheathed under all but the direst circumstances, and I have refused lyrium. This may make the job more difficult, but it is worth it in the end." Rosaline reassured her brother, who let out another sigh of relief.

"So you must be out here searching for a mage." Mirwen asked.

"Yes. Some mages were being transferred between Ostwick and Kirkwall when the caravan was attacked. We don't know who or why, but I've been tasked with finding survivors." Rosaline said.

"I'm afraid we're unable to help you Rosaline." Latimer shook his head sadly. "We knew nothing of this attack, and no traveller has come by in the past few days."

"It is no trouble." Rosaline smiled at the two. "Knowing you're alive, and in good company is good enough for me. I must return to my search, but I wish to continue to visit."

"Provided you keep it a secret from the Templars, and our family, I see no problem." Latimer smiled back.

"Keeper Vathornhel would be a little disturbed, but I'm sure he'd believe us when we say you mean no harm." Mirwen also returned a smile.

"Thank you both. I should resume my search. It was nice to see you again Latimer, and nice to meet you, Mirwen." Rosaline stood up.

"Dareth shiral, Rosaline. It was nice to meet you too."

"Goodbye, sister."

"Maker bless and watch over you both."

* * *

_"Rosaline kept her word, and dropped by every two weeks or so. Some of Mirwen's clan got to know her in the coming months. Even Vathornhel himself braved a meeting with her, if only to personally judge her intentions."_

_"But nothing stays peaceful forever."_

_"Truer words have never been spoken. Evidently some other Templars from Kirkwall grew suspicious, and wrote to Osborn. Apparently, my big brother was the Knight-Captain of the Ostwick Templars. He wrote back, ordering them to follow her, and report everything they saw to him."_

_"Uh oh."_

_"Damn right. When he got their letter, he informed our parents, and marched to Kirkwall…"_

* * *

Latimer's camp was quite busy today. Rosaline was visiting, and some of the clan came to his tent to join the gathering. One of the elven children was seated on Rosaline's knee, and Mirwen was ever so slightly leaning into him. But a sudden call broke the peaceful moment.

"Latimer!"

Hearing his name called in a panicked tone, Latimer looked up. One of the scouts came running from the cliff side watch post, nearly collapsing when he reached the group.

"Josriel? What's wrong?"

"Armored shemlen… coming this way! They seem ready for war!" The hunter gasped, as he struggled to regain his breath.

"Can you describe the armor?" Latimer asked.

"It looks like her's!" He pointed to Rosaline.

"Mirwen, get everyone back to the main camp. Tell them to start packing up. Whether they're hostile to the clan or not, it won't be safe for you here anymore." Latimer ordered, keeping his eyes glued to the road.

"…Be safe, Ma'falon." Mirwen put a hand on Latimer's shoulder before leading the elves back to the camp.

"I must have been followed a few weeks back." Rosaline looked and sounded worried. "They waited for me to be here. They wanted to catch me in the act."

"Or we're about to have an impromptu family reunion." Latimer growled.

Sure enough the sound of a marching army grew closer and closer. After what felt like an eternity, they finally turned the corner and came into view. With the bulk of the Templars staying back, three figures stepped forward. Between a greying couple, a lone Templar stood and removed his helmet. With his dirty blonde hair and charming smile, anyone would think the man to be a hero. But Latimer knew very differently as he glared daggers at his older brother.

"You're not only alive, but living in the dirt with heretics? You are such a disappointment, and not just to Mother and Father, but to the Maker as well." Osborn clicked his tongue in mockery.

"This is the path the Maker has chosen for him." Rosaline interjected. "Leave him be."

"And you think you know the Maker's will?" Osborn scoffed. "What, did he tell you himself? He couldn't have. He hasn't spoken to a soul since Andraste. Do you claim to be as she is?"

"She serves the Maker more than _you_, Osborn." Latimer spat at his brother.

"Don't speak to me about serving the Maker! You abandoned your duties to the Chantry, and without so much of a goodbye to Mother or Father!" Osborn shouted.

"Enough, Osborn. We may speak for ourselves."

Augustus Trevelyan was almost royal in appearance and stance. His wife, Arianne, was much more emotional than her stoic husband. Even so, she mimicked his regal stance as best as possible.

"We are very disappointed in you, Latimer." Augustus started, shaking his head at his youngest child.

"Of course you are! I've defied your orders, broke from your chains." Latimer shouted back.

"We wanted what was best for you." His mother held her hands over her lap, attempting to retain a calm visage.

"And I had no say in it! You gave me no choice as to whether I wanted to be in the Chantry or the Templars, you forced me into it, like a slave!" Latimer spat defiantly at the trio standing across from him.

"How dare you?!" Augustus attempted to interrupt, but Latimer would have none of that.

"How dare I? What _is_ a slave? A slave is under the direct control of another. Slaves are property. I was not your son, I was your slave! So yes, I ran. I ran from Osborn and his sanctimonious, holier-than-thou bullshit. I ran from your oppression. I ran to find my own happiness, because there was none for me in the Chantry, or in Ostwick." Latimer ranted, not calming down in the slightest.

"You didn't even say goodbye." Arianne started to tear up.

"Because you did not, and will not understand! I am happy here. Is it so terrible that I be happily living outside the Chantry's service?"

"Enough!" Osborn shouted. "You will return with us, or we will burn this camp to the ground!"

"And _there _he is!" Latimer laughed bitterly. "The façade has broken! There's the vicious, vindictive bastard you _really _are. You're so blind… all of you! You'd murder families, children, just because you feel some sort of divine justification? Maker spit on you."

"The Maker smiles on me, heretic." Osborn snarled like an animal. "You will return with us to Ostwick, or these heathens will die!"

"I will go nowhere with _you_. But, if I must go to a Chantry… I will go only with Rosaline to Kirkwall, and only if I be given one day to say goodbye."

"You've grown attached to these elves." Augustus spat.

"They've been more of a family than the three of _you_." Latimer responded lowly.

"…Provided Rosaline's duty to the Maker isn't in question… I suppose that arrangement is fair." Osborn glared at his sister. "We shall return to Ostwick. If I do not receive a letter signed by Grand Cleric Elthina within two weeks, I am coming to Kirkwall. If you are not accounted for by the Chantry, I will hunt down and burn every elven camp in the Free Marches until you are found."

"I expected nothing less from you. Emma felas'nan." Latimer growled.

"Elvish nonsense… what does _that _mean?" Osborn scoffed.

"It means 'my revenge will be slow'. Don't you dare think for even a second that I'll forget about this, Osborn. Ma emma harel: you should fear me."

Osborn and Latimer drifted towards each other, both challenging the other to make the first move. Despite their stare-off, Osborn drifted back towards his small army, signaling them to move out.

"I'm sorry, Latimer." Rosaline drifted towards her brother.

"You're not to blame. _He _is. And he will someday suffer for it. Please, stay here, make yourself at home. I… have to say goodbye." Latimer said distantly.

"I understand."

Latimer slowly walked towards the main camp, head hung low. As he entered, he could see the elves hurriedly packing their belongings. Vathornhel, Fiora, and Mirwen rushed to meet him.

"I was told that armored humans came. What happened?" Vathornhel asked sharply.

"My… brother found me." Latimer said, causing Mirwen to let out a small gasp. "I'm afraid I cannot join you on your travels. If I do not go to the Chantry in Kirkwall with my sister, he will slaughter every Dalish clan in the Free Marches to force me into their servitude."

"…Years ago I would have denounced you for bringing this trouble upon us. But I must be thankful for all the good your presence has brought. I will ensure to send word to all the other clans that you are to be trusted." Vathornhel said, interrupting himself once with a coughing fit.

"Thank you, Keeper."

"My remaining time is short… but I must say before we part ways: you have altered my perception of your kind. It has been an honor to have you living among our people. Dareth shiral, da'len."

"…Thank you, Keeper." Latimer was dumbstruck by the statement as the elderly elf hobbled away.

"Dareth shiral, Latimer Trevelyan. You are a true friend to the Elvhen, and it is an honor to know you." Fiora said, bowing before following the Keeper.

Mirwen and Latimer were left alone standing before each other.

"Please don't leave." She cried, nearly knocking him over as she rushed to embrace him.

"I have to…" Latimer said softly.

"Will I ever see you again?" Mirwen asked, with her head still buried in his shoulder.

"I will find you, somehow." Latimer replied.

"So is this goodbye?" Mirwen questioned, finally looking Latimer in the eye.

"Not if I have anything to say about it. I _will_ find you." He responded.

The two held in their embrace for what felt like forever. Finally, Mirwen slowly slipped away. Giving a heavy sigh, Latimer turned to walk back to his camp. Partway there, he could hear someone running. Latimer had barely turned around when Mirwen all but tackled him.

"Mirwen, wha-?"

His question what cut off when Mirwen pressed her lips against his. After several seconds, they separated.

"I'm sorry, but I _really _should've done that a _long _time ago, and I didn't want you to leave before I did that and said ma'arlath. Ma emma lath, Latimer. I love you." Mirwen's fast talking tendency was on full display as she barely kept from crying.

"I love you too, Mirwen. I've been meaning to say that for a long time too. I promise, someday I _will _find you. Ma'arlath." Latimer pulled Mirwen into one final kiss before the two untangled themselves and got off the ground. Giving each other one last longing look as they walked away.

* * *

"And after _that_, well, you could see why I don't think of my family in high regard." Latimer said. "But as I came to regard the elves as family, I… kinda think of the Inquisition as my family too. A big… violent… interracial… messed-up family."

"Oh don't get mushy on us, Trev." Elias laughed. "We love you too."

"If we're family… how do you explain your flirting with Josephine?" Dorian asked.

"And me." Sera commented.

"It's… metaphorical." Latimer awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. "And I wasn't _flirting_… at least not _really _seriously… Moving on!"


	9. Chapter Nine: The Big Come Down

**A/N:** The ride is almost over.

* * *

**Chapter Nine: The Big Come Down**

* * *

"But by the time I figured out that Sela Petrae and Drakestone were common ingredients to explosives, it was too late. All I could do was warn Latimer, and get the Carta to start moving out. We were three-quarters gone before the Chantry blew." Elias said, telling of his greatest failure.

"Do you dwell on your mistake?" Iron Bull asked.

"…No. Sometimes I wonder about if I had been there, of if I was told earlier… but it wouldn't have changed much, if anything. I'm glad I did what I could." Elias said, somewhat somber, but not depressed.

"And good thing you warned me too." Latimer said. "I'm not sure how things would've turned out otherwise. Pass over the helmet, if you may."

Reaching into the helmet, Latimer was about to read the paper aloud, but stopped suddenly.

"Latimer? You okay?" Sera asked.

"What does it say?" Iron Bull asked.

"Have you ever lost someone you loved?" Latimer softly read the paper. The room was quiet for a moment.

"…We'll understand if you need to-" Elias started.

"No, I need to do this." Latimer sighed. "Maybe talking will make it easier. But please, don't tell anybody outside of this room. Got it?"

Human, elf, dwarf, and qunari all nodded.

* * *

_"Okay… well, thanks to The Shadow's information, I finally had Mirwen's location. After the Chantry exploded, I knew that it was my only chance to go after her. However, it also meant that Osborn would soon be on the hunt for me, to make sure I stayed with the Chantry. So I ran, avoiding the war that consumed Kirkwall to track down my girl. It took a few days to get there, even with the horse I borrowed."_

_"You mean stole."_

_"Borrowed. Borrowed without permission, but with the wish I could have brought it back."_

_"But you didn't!"_

_"A minor detail."_

* * *

Latimer dismounted the black horse the moment he saw the Dalish watchmen, walking towards them with his hands raised in a non-threatening gesture. Even so, their bows were at the ready, arrows waiting to be fired.

"Turn back shemlen. Your kind is not welcome among the Dalish." One of the archers said, keeping his arrow trained on the human.

"My name is Latimer Trevelyan. I am lethallin'falon, as decreed by Keeper Vathornhel. I have urgent business with a hunter named Mirwen, and was told that she came to your clan." Latimer froze in place, keeping his hands raised.

"_You're _the shem that Vathornhel spoke so highly of?" He asked, in equal parts doubt and surprise.

"Yes." Latimer nodded. He watched as the elves discussed amongst themselves, not one lowering their bow until their decision was made.

"Enter the camp, but be quick. You seem troubled, and we want no trouble of yours to follow us." The watchman said.

"Ma serannas. I wish no harm upon the Dalish." Latimer walked past the guards and into the main camp. Many heads turned as the human made his way through the camp, seeking out the Keeper. The Keeper of this clan was a young man, likely having just recently ascended from his position as First.

"Andaran atish'an, lethallin'falon. I have heard much of you. I am Ilrion." The Keeper said, his long black hair hanging over his face as he bowed his head.

"Aneth ara, Ilrion." Latimer bowed in turn. "I seek one named Mirwen. I was told she came to your clan."

"Yes, she is among us, but she is out hunting." Ilrion said. "You are most welcome to sit and wait until she returns."

"That is a very generous offer, Keeper. Ma serannas." Latimer said, taking a seat. "How did Mirwen come to your clan?"

"No harm has come to what was Vathornhel's clan, if that is your concern." Ilrion said, sitting down in turn. "Mirwen was… lost. She had been travelling between various clans. Mine is but the most recent stop. I suppose that she will be more capable of explaining it than I am."

"Understandable." Latimer nodded. "Do you know what became of Vathornhel's clan?"

"Vathornhel passed away a few years ago. From what I hear, Fiora has been doing an excellent job in her position, and-"

"Ma sa'lath!"

Ilrion was interrupted when a voice called out from across the camp. Latimer looked in the direction of the commotion to see Mirwen charging towards him. Latimer leapt from his seat and rushed to meet her, catching and spinning his love around.

"Emm'asha, emma lath… I found you." Latimer whispered as he held his beloved in a tight embrace. The two stood together in each other's arms, blissfully ignorant of the prying eyes of the others.

"If you're here… does that mean you've been let out of the Chantry?" Mirwen asked.

"Well… in a manner of speaking. Something has happened. A mage destroyed the Chantry in Kirkwall. When I left, Mages and Templars erupted into war." Latimer said grimly. "I hope that this conflict forces Osborn to turn his attention to this new war… but knowing my brother, I have my doubts that he'll simply leave me be."

"Then we aren't safe here." Mirwen stated worriedly. "Where can we go?"

"The Free Marches are not safe, but I have a friend from Tantervale. Hopefully, I can get a letter to her and she can help… but she is a constant traveller. We may not get a reply soon enough. We could potentially travel to Ferelden, or Antiva, but we may never be able to truly settle down."

"As long as I'm with you, I'll be happy." Mirwen kissed him.

* * *

_"So we started our life on the run together. I wasn't willing to wait on 'maybes', so we had to go somewhere across the sea. We decided that Ferelden would likely be a better choice than Antiva, as we were both somewhat familiar with the territory. But with Kirkwall in ruin, the only other place we could take ship was Cumberland."_

_"Long way to travel."_

_"Indeed. To avoid- oh. I'd better mention now because Mr. Cadash is so interested. Yes, Mirwen and I did have sex while on the run."_

_"Too much information."_

_"I'm gonna slap your shit, dwarf."_

_"Easy, Sera… now, where was I? Oh right. To avoid Kirkwall, we had to go around the Vimmark Mountains. It was exhausting, but we persevered. We got our first taste of being hunted in Wildervale. Osborn had given Templars my description, and ordered them to be on the lookout for me. It was very difficult to disguise the bodies as mage-killed, but we generally had success… until we actually reached Cumberland. Osborn wasn't there when we arrived, but he was definitely there around the time we left."_

_"How did you know?"_

_"Osborn lacks many things. Subtlety is one of them. While he was too late to stop us from sailing to Ferelden, we knew that he would undoubtedly pursue as soon as possible. So we hid some spare clothes on a cart bound for Amaranthine, and travelled in the opposite direction. If he was using hounds to track us, they should've been confused by the alternating scent trails…"_

_"…It didn't work, did it?"_

* * *

Latimer hadn't run like this in years. His lungs were set to burst, and his heart was pounding out of control. The Templars were firing arrows at them, though thanks to the thick forest, most of them were landing harmlessly against trees. Latimer and Mirwen took turns firing back, managing to slow the Templars down to a degree.

"Emma lath, we can't keep this up for much longer." Mirwen gasped out.

"I know." Latimer sighed. "You need to keep going?"

"What? No! Not without you!" Mirwen grabbed Latimer's arm and attempted to pull him along.

"It's me they want alive. They'll _kill _you. Knowing Osborn, he'll make me watch. I _need _you to escape, find shelter, live. I will find you again… somehow. I promise." Latimer held the hand that gripped him gently.

"Not if I find you first, ma sa'lath." Mirwen gave Latimer a quick kiss.

"Go, now. I'll distract them." Latimer let go and rushed off to the side, firing back at the Templars while Mirwen ran off into the woods. "Osborn! Halam sahlin! Come and get me!"

Latimer drew the Templars into a clearing, standing in the middle of it where he could be seen. Sure enough, the remaining Templars healthy or determined enough to give chase arrived.

"You've got a lot of blood on your hands right now, little brother." Osborn shouted as he walked past his men.

"Ar tu na'lin emma mi." Latimer spat in Osborn's direction.

"More elven _nonsense_!" Osborn was fuming, having been chasing Latimer unrelentingly for months.

"I'll see your blood on my blade!" Latimer translated, charging towards the Templars with his two axes. Even though he knew he had bitten off more than he could handle, Latimer had a gut feeling that Osborn wanted him alive. He was counting on said gut feeling.

Even so, Latimer had no plan on leaving any Templars healthy enough to continue to chase Mirwen. Like a madman, he struck hard and fast, aiming to cripple and kill as many Templars as possible. Even though he was outnumbered, the Templars were much slower and unlike Latimer, were trying to avoid lethal force. One by one, Templars began to fall. However, all it took was a single lucky strike from one of the Templar shields to throw Latimer off balance. The armored soldiers tackled him, all but piling themselves on top of the rogue.

With his hands finally bound, the Templars hauled Latimer up off the ground and at their leader's feet.

"And those faithful to the Maker win in the end." He laughed before striking Latimer in the head with the hilt of his sword. Even as the blackness consumed him, his thoughts were only with Mirwen. Would she truly be safe? Would they meet again?

* * *

"Next thing I knew, I was being dragged back to Ostwick. And so my family took my love away from me for the second time." Latimer finished the somber story.

"You know… I'm sure if you talked to Leliana, she could help you find her." Dorian suggested.

"You think she could track down one elf who could be anywhere in Thedas? Maybe even…" Latimer's dry tone faded away.

"It doesn't hurt to ask." Sera said softly.

"…Yeah. I'll talk to her tomorrow." Latimer said quietly after a moment of silence. "You'll understand my reluctance. Leliana is still kinda part of the Chantry, and we know my history with them."

"Dorian, your turn." Elias said, passing the helm to the mage.

Latimer felt a sense of calm as the game resumed. His earlier comment about the Inquisition feeling like family was beginning to ring true, now more than ever.


	10. Chapter Ten: The Reason

**A/N:** This chapter is intentionally short… it's the last one. Thank you for reading. I'm considering a few side fics that tell Latimer's story a little more. Hopefully I can stay the course and write them.

* * *

**Chapter Ten: The Reason**

* * *

"Wow… it's getting late." Latimer observed, rubbing his eyes.

"One more round?" Iron Bull asked, closely watching the faces of those in the room for signs of tiredness.

"Of questions or booze?" Elias asked.

"Both!" Iron Bull laughed.

"Please stop shouting." Sera mumbled, barely keeping from nodding off.

"Alright, let's blow through this quickly. And I know just the way to do it." Latimer said, taking command.

"Really?" Elias scoffed.

"Well, it's really simple. What do you fight for? Why'd you join up with the Inquisition?" Latimer asked the room.

"…For me, it was about redeeming my homeland." Dorian spoke first. "Tevinter is a mess, and I suppose someone like me has to fix it."

"You think that's possible?" Elias asked.

"If I believed my homeland to be beyond hope, I wouldn't miss it so much." Dorian responded.

There was some silence before Sera spoke up next.

"I'm trying to help the people caught in the middle. I mean, good guys and bad guys going at it without a care of who's in the crossfire. And bad things should happen to bad people. We find somebody not so bad, maybe they'll end up not so dead." The elf finished her summary.

"Well, you hired me." Iron Bull stated simply. "And you seem to bring mayhem wherever you go, so… it's a natural fit."

"Oh geez, what the sod am I fighting for?" Elias put a hand to his chin. "For me, maybe? Money? Personal gain? Survival? I mean, these are all well and good, maybe a little selfish, but hey… that's _me _for you. But don't doubt that I'll do the 'right thing'. This Inquisition is a job, an ideal, something to fight for and alongside. And best of all: it's a challenge."

All eyes in the room turned to Latimer.

"Honestly… I didn't want to join the Inquisition. I didn't want to be at the conclave. There were a whole lot of bad things that had to happen before I joined, and that's what made me realize this is _exactly _what my sister was always on about. For as little as I appreciate the Maker and hate the Chantry, this Inquisition is the path I was born to walk. But why do I fight? I fight for the elves I lived with, so that maybe they can live in freedom. I fight for the mages who suffered under Templars like my brother. I fight hoping that someday I'll find Mirwen alive and well, and we can finally have our happy ending together. And then there's you guys. You're gonna be my new family, whether you like it or not. Even Cassandra, and her-"

Just then the door to the study flung open.

"_What _is going on here?"

"Speak of the demon…" Latimer muttered.

All heads turned to see Cassandra, still armoured and standing in the doorway. Did that woman ever take a break?

"We were getting to know each other a little better with a game of sorts. Perhaps you'll be less of a stick in the mud and join us next time?" Elias grinned.

Cassandra scowled at the dwarf.

"Well, we were just finishing up… Iron Bull, you up for a few rounds in the tavern?" Elias shrugged.

"Always." The qunari stood and walked out with the dwarf.

"So help me, if I hear a report of you pissing off the watchtowers _one more time_…" Cassandra's voice trailed off as she followed them.

"Well… I need beauty sleep." Sera yawned and stretched.

"Isn't all sleep beauty sleep for you?" Latimer asked, to Dorian's amusement.

"Flatterer." Sera scoffed, heading out the door.

"I suppose I should rest as well." Dorian commented. "Perhaps we could have a game of chess in the future?"

"Only if you enjoy losing." Latimer grinned.

"We'll see about that." Dorian walked out the door with a laugh.

Latimer stayed seated by the fire, staring into the dancing flames as he reflected on the past hours. Even though he was an ass, Elias did speak the truth more often than it seemed. Preferring sleeping in his bed to a chair, even if said chair was by the fire, Latimer rose and left the study.

* * *

**THE END**

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**A/N: **Once again, thank you for reading. I'd like to thank my writing partner-in-crime Jamy Catalyst (Project X). This fic shares a universe with her Inquisition fic, so give that a read. I'd also like to thank Jessica-X, who despite knowing absolutely nothing about Dragon Age, provided much-needed support, pep talks, and the prompt for chapter three. Special mention to Kalyri, without whom chapter one would probably suck. Another shout out to Ottemis, who's "help me make it to release writing prompt" inspired chapters four and five.

Lastly, a _big_ thank you to: Duggs, Ellie181, HayabusaDragonForce, KC Pendragon, Serithus, The Ribbon Fighter, dragonlorerd6, PiperDreamer, buttonsXD, pawakin, and Azuchache for their follows, favourites, and reviews.


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